


Reserve Training

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [19]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Tony and Remy are called to Great Lakes to act as TO's. Not happy about that but they do their duty, until it's time not to. And it doesn't help things that Ron Sacks is there, with attitude





	Reserve Training

Reserve Training

.  
I don’t know anything about real basic training, or reservist retraining, so this is a giant ass-pull on my part. Enjoy it for what it is.

.

A platoon is 16 to 25 men  
a platoon is usually divided into squads of 4 to 8 men. 

.

I combined some of the mess jargon as it’s just too confusing for civilians. Just take it as there are three messes, or galleys. One for enlisted, one for Non-commissioned officers and one for Officers. Remy is eating in Officer’s mess as Tony’s guest.

.

 

Beta-ed by Jake and Jordre. As usual, thanks so much.  
.

 

Chapter 1

 

Gibbs eyed the paper in his hand with disgust. He was still a Reserve Marine and had to report for two weeks retraining every year. He’d just gotten his “summons;” this was the reason he was well known for not taking days off. He saved his vacation time for this, never mind that he had weeks of paid overtime on the books.

Tim looked up from doing routine maintenance on his computer to ask, “What put that look on your face, Jet?”

“Reserve Refresh.” He scowled at the paper in his hand. “Well, I’ll tell Vance. Good thing things are slow right now.”

Tim shook his head. “Glad I don’t have to mess with that. I’d probably smack the TO. I hate having anyone scream in my face.” He frowned for a moment, then added, “Except for AJ.”

Gibbs shrugged. “Get used to it after a bit. First day’s always a bit rough.” He smirked. “Besides, I’ll be the one doing the yelling.”

Tim grimaced, “Asshole.”

“Nope, bastard ... second b for.” Gibbs grinned at Tim who just grinned back.

Tony strode in just then with a scowl on his face. “Been recalled.” He slammed a drawer then flopped into his chair. “Shit.”

Remy sat at his desk and grumbled, “An’ I’m not? Don’t like it.”

Dean shrugged, then offered, “That new HRC Assignment Officer is a screaming thunder cunt. Probably just did it for spite. We’re assigned here as TDA’s until you’re done with whatever impossibly necessary dumb-assed thing you’re assigned to. Belt finds out and he’s gonna throw a bitch fit.” He grumbled off into dire muttering about how he wasn’t going to be the one who bitched, but he hoped someone did.

Tony shrugged. “I’m all over it. I sent in a complaint but haven’t heard anything yet. Never mind. Won’t be the first time I’ve been on detached duty.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “An’ you never gon’ on any duty wit’ out me ever again. Just no.”

Tony shook his head, “Don’t side-oogle me, jerk.”

Remy just grumbled wordlessly and flopped into his chair. He opened his email and began to sort through the mess. “An’ why do I have a box full of fuckin’ Viagra adds and other weird shit?”

Tim overheard him grumbling, snickered, and said, “If you’d stay off the porn sites, that wouldn’t happen. I’ll set up some filters if you’d like.”

Remy announced, rather indignantly, “Do’an visit dat shit. Like my women live an’ willin’. No idea where this shit is comin’ from. An’ even if I did, I too smart to do it at work.”

Tim motioned for Remy to trade places with him. He started to sit in Remy’s chair but Remy rolled his over instead. “Don’t mess ma chair up, dude.”

Tim chuckled. “Okay, okay. Can’t help it if you’re a long drink a’ water.” He plopped down in his chair and checked Remy’s account over. “Someone did access porn on this computer, which accesses your general email account. You’re tagged. I’ll fix it, but don’t leave your computer on when you leave your desk. I’ll set your screensaver to turn on in five minutes and set a password to turn it off. You should have done this months ago.”

Remy frowned. “I thought I did.”

“Well, if you did, someone turned it off.” Tim typed for a moment. “There ... screen saver ... I wrote the password on a post-it. Read, remember, destroy. And the filters should keep all the crap out.”

Remy looked at the post-it for a moment, mumbled the password to himself, then ate the post-it. 

Tim eyed him for a moment then mumbled, “Show-off.”

Remy grinned, “Betta dan burnin’ it.”

“Jerk.” Tim flopped into his chair.

“Bitch.” Remy tossed a wad of paper at Tim. “What’s got your shorts in a bunch?”

“Tony’s gonna be gone for two damn weeks. You’re gonna be gone too. Gibbs is gonna be gone. Abby’s gonna flutter around like a broke-winged chicken.” Tim made a face. “Yeah, shorts are definitely in a bunch.”

Remy sighed, “Not to mention that you’re gonna sulk and Jimmy and Ducky are gonna droop around like wet rags.”

Gibbs returned to the bullpen just in time to hear the last exchange. “We’re all gonna miss everyone. Email, letters, text ...” he shrugged irritably, “just don’t do it. But ... we’ll survive. So ...” he turned on his computer and grumbled, “Who the hell? And why am I gettin’ fuckin’ ads for Viagra? Someone explain that.” His indignant expression made the group snicker.

Tim sighed. “Well, shit. I bet that little dick from IT was up here last week and ... I’m gonna kill the little ...” He checked something then announced, “He was. That jerk has some sort of fuckin’ hate on for filters, blockers, and screen savers with passwords. I’m going down to IT and have a few words with the DH.”

Tim made a point of putting his ID around his neck, pulling the bead-chain out of the back of his wallet then patting it into place against his A-TAC shirt. He was wearing A-TAC’s, like most of the Pod. They’d developed the habit to match the SEALs’ required black uniform; it didn’t hurt as they were usually dealing with military or dependents. Vance had only said to make sure that they weren’t wearing something they weren’t entitled to.

After getting his Sig out of the drawer and tucking it into his thigh holster, Tim stormed off to the elevator and jabbed the up button. Contrary to popular belief, the IT Department wasn’t in the basement. The Cyber Crimes Department was.

No one wondered at Tim taking his sidearm, as Gibbs had decreed that no one left their desk without theirs. They’d been called out a couple of times and been delayed while someone returned to their desk from somewhere else in the building.

Dean eyed Tim then said to Cosmo, “Digimon’s on a real ass-on-fire rampage lately. Why’s that?”

“Some dumb-ass greenie up in IT keeps messing with our damn computers. No idea why. He’s taken off almost everything Tim put on. Deleted his personal programs and algorithms and, in general and specifically, made a PITA out of himself. Hide-bound as a jarhead ... without the excuse.” Cos smirked at Gibbs. “Jet’s the exception, of course.”

Gibbs just snorted then said, “Better hope Tim handles him. If I have to go up there, there’s gonna be bloodshed. I’ve got over two thousand damn emails to get through because he ripped out my filters and I have no fuckin’ idea how to get ‘em to work after the fact.” He eyed his monitor with disgust.

Dean grumbled, “I don’t either, and I’ve got nearly three thousand emails to sort through.” He started to get up.

Remy barked, “Sit!” before he got too far. “No killin’ the new IT guy. Looks très mal, ami.”

Dean sat back down but mumbled, “If Digimon can’t fix this, I am ... slappin’ him around, at least.”

Gibbs, still deleting emails, offered, “I’ll hold ‘im.”

.

Tim ambled into IT with alarming calm. He wasn’t going to cause a scene unless he needed to but, if he needed to, he was going to tear someone a new one. 

Mr. Jackson, the department head, looked up when Tim entered his office and cringed. He liked Tim but, when he was on the war path, all he wanted to do was run. Tim never yelled but his awful politeness was like a cold shower. And he was obviously on the war path; his green eyes were flashing and his face was pale around a hectic flush.

“Mr. Jackson, we have a situation.” Jackson cringed. “Yes, cringe. Your newest fuckin’ IT Tec is a knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing waste of air. I’ve got damn good backups or you’d be trying to fuckin’ recreate some very damn complex beta software for the SEALs. If that come stain even fuckin’ looks like he’s gonna touch any damn computer in my fuckin’ bullpen again, I’ll fuckin’ shoot his dumb ass.”

Mr Jackson did what any wise department head would do, he called the offending tec to his office. He notified his secretary by intercom, then settled back. “Coffee?”

Tim shook his head. “No, thank you. I’d be too tempted to drown him in it.” He settled into a chair. “And, just so I know ... what the hell is this fuckwad’s name?”

“Howard. Jason Howard. He’s ... ivory tower, at best; a recent acquisition from ... some tec firm. Lazenby headhunted him.” Mr Jackson settled back. “Now ... Lazenby is a good man, but he’s enamored of big brains. Not necessarily with common sense.” He reached back to his personal coffee maker and poured himself a cup. “Sure?” he waved the pot at Tim.

“I’m sure. You have good coffee, it’d be a shame to waste it by tossing it at someone.” He rubbed his face. “I have personal software on my machine, and test software that I’m beta’ing. He also removed all the damn filters from everyone’s email ... Gibbs is screaming pissed because he’s got thousands of email ads for God only knows what. And he’s got to sort them by hand. Now ... I’ve got written permission from SecNav to have anything I want on my computer or any computer in Gibbs’ bullpen. So ... Keep that ASVAB waiver recipient away from my machines.”

“I’m sorry. He’s been told ... but he insists on applying his rules. I’ve just about had it with him, but he’s got a damn contract Lazenby signed. I’ve complained to Vance, but there’s not much to be done until the contract runs.” 

Tim shrugged. “The contract only ensures he doesn’t get fired?” Jackson nodded. “So ... set him to doing some damn thing ... nasty ... like data entry or something. Maybe reconditioning old units for sale. Or sweeping management computers, you know how messed up they can get and no one likes dealing with that shit. Just keep him out of the fuckin’ squad room or someone’s gonna really hurt him.”

The tap on the door was perfunctory, at best, then the door opened to reveal the quintessential computer nerd. The man was dressed in a sloppy suit with his tie askew. His shirt was stained with some unidentified brown substance, probably coffee. He had a tablet in one hand and a phone in the other.

Tim eyed him as he sidled into the room, messing with his phone at the same time. “Put that away.” Tim stood up, suddenly looking a lot more like a SEAL and a lot less like a geek. “Mr Jackson has called you into his office because we, Mr Howard, have a huge problem.” He pointed at the man. “You.”

Jason blinked for a few seconds then put his phone into a pocket and addressed his tablet instead. Tim cleared his throat pointedly but Jason held up one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture that reduced Tim’s ability to tolerate him to nil. 

Tim took a deep breath then barked, “Okay. Let’s do this again. Put up your damn phone, fuckin’ tablet, blue tooth, hand-held game, and any other damn electronic distraction.” He waited while Jason managed that. “Now that I have your undivided attention,” he took another deep breath, “What the ever lovin’ fuck do you think you’re doin’? When did anyone give you fuckin’ permission to touch my damn computer? Especially try to mess with my personal machine? Or delete filters from every damn machine in my bullpen?”

Jason realized that he’d somehow offended this rather fierce looking man, so he looked to Mr Jackson for help. “But ... sir ... Mr. Jackson. Rules are rules for a reason. You’re not allowed to lock IT out of your computers. Or have unauthorized filters or un-vetted software on your machines. As to a personal computer ... if you bring it into the office ... it has to be up to spec.” He nodded his head in an infuriating ‘so there’ gesture that made both Tim and Mr Jackson grind their teeth.

Tim eyed Mr Jackson then said, “One, you’re going by rules created by a company for ignorant users; I’m not. And they don’t apply to NCIS. Two, email filters are always authorized. Three, I’m vetting the damn software. Four, personal machines are exactly that, personal; thus the locks on my case. Jerk. And I’m insulted that you have the unmitigated gall to imply that my machine is less than absolutely cutting-edge.” He talked right over Jason’s sputtered protests. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay the fuck out of our damn bullpen, keep your greasy hands off our computers and, in general and particular, forget we even exist.” He glowered for a moment. “Or I’m gonna erase your electronic life. Got me?” 

Jason appealed to Mr Jackson. “He can’t do that. Can he? I mean, he’s not allowed.”

Mr Jackson just replied, “He can. He will. And I’ll sit back and applaud. Do you realize how many complaints I’ve gotten in the last twenty-five days? The amount of time you’ve been working here, I might add.” Jason started to say something then shut his mouth and shook his head. “Forty. All for the same thing. Deleted necessary software, interference with filters, and general stupidity. Now ... since you managed to get a contract, I can’t cut your walking papers ... but I can get you out of my hair. We received a shipment of new computers for the fourth floor. I don’t want you anywhere near the new computers, but the old ones are going up for sale ... as soon as you scrub them. I’ll have you assigned a workroom and you’re to stay in it, not approach any of the Special Agents, most especially Gibbs, and stay out of further trouble. Got me?”

Jason nodded. He wasn’t happy, but he’d been warned by other techs that he was headed for a fall. He’d ignored them as he knew best; he was a genius, after all. Now he was effectively fired. “But…”

Jackson snarled, “Yeah, butt, get it out of my office ... now!” He turned to call his secretary to take Jason to his new digs, turning his back on him.

Tim eyed the man for a moment then just pointed to the door. “If I have to help you, you won’t like it.”

Jason slumped, sighed, and left.

Tim watched then turned and said, “And now ... I get to go down and help all my co-workers sort email. I’m going to upload a filter and sort program to the mainframe; all you have to do is leave it the fuck alone. It’s in beta right now. If anyone wants to experiment with it, feel free.”

Mr. Jackson was well aware that every single person in NCIS hated their company email program. It was outdated by several generations, but no one seemed to be willing to find something better. As a government agency, they didn’t use unsecured email providers like Gmail or Thunderbird. He was glad that Tim was being generous enough to allow them to have a copy, even in beta. He didn’t realize that it was self-serving in that Tim got more people to beta his program.

.

Tim returned to the bullpen just in time to hear Tony swear up a storm. It turned out that he was being called to Great Lakes Naval Training Station to replace a TO who’d managed to break his leg. The station was now in need of two TO’s to work with Reservists, and Tony and Remy had drawn the short straw. No one was best pleased.

Gibbs offered to pull in a favor or two, as did Vance. Remy shook his head, joined by Tony. Tony explained, “No, save ‘em for something good. We’ll go. Just hate to leave you short-handed.”

Vance eased that fear. “I’ll put Cale and Richter on as TDA’s. They’re both good enough. McGee can train them up a bit while they’re here. Can’t hurt for SEALs to have a few trained investigators on hand.”

Dean and Cosmo eyed Gibbs with some concern. They weren’t worried about his having a fit over their being assigned to his team; they were worried about Tony’s having a fit about taking over as a TO. He wasn’t fond of the job, about as fond as he was of taking SERE for the third, or was it fourth, time. In other words, he was going to pitch an epic fit.

Only, he didn’t. “Guys, I’m okay with it. I’ve managed to avoid giving SERE training for two years. I knew I wasn’t going to manage to get out of training someone for something much longer. Being a TO is much better than being a SERE trainer. I really fuckin’ hate that job ...” he smirked. “Although I wouldn’t mind if I got my hands on a couple of people. But that’s just me being an asshole.”

Gibbs eyed the group for a moment, then said, “Okay, Leon, one condition.”

Vance, used to this sort of thing, said, “Depends. What condition?”

“Tim needs a real computer expert, not that Dean and Cos aren’t good, but someone really up to Tim’s standards.” Gibbs nodded to Dean and Cosmo. “No insult intended.”

“None taken.” Dean leaned against Tony’s desk, ankles crossed. “But who?” He also crossed his arms over his chest.

Cosmo bit his lip in thought. “AJ?”

Tony gave the idea the consideration it deserved. “Okay, why does Tim need someone beside himself? He’s not going anywhere.”

Gibbs nodded. “I know. He needs to train someone to do what he does. He’s overloaded. Since he’s now Team Lead, he can train someone up.”

Tim nodded. “I am. I’ve been helping Balboa’s team; they don’t have a geek, or even a nerd. And I get calls from Hetty from time to time to help out Eric Beale. I do need help, but ... who?”

Vance had also been thinking. “How about Ned Dorneget? He’s good; he just lacks experience. So?”

Tony nodded. “He’s good. No attitude. Smart. And quick.”

Gibbs gave the group a quick glance-over. No one seemed to have any objections. “Tim?”

“Okay by me. How soon do we have to deal?”

Vance sighed. “Since no one answered any email, the Navy has assumed that you’re available for immediate deployment. You’ve got 72 hours to get gone. Sorry.”

Tony snarled. “Well, shit. Gibbs, can you inform Ducky and Jimmy for me?”

Gibbs nodded. “I will. You better put wheels under this bitch.”

Tony and Remy shook hands with Vance then manly hugged around the group, grabbed their gear, and were gone.

Gibbs rubbed his face. “Well, shit.”

Tim agreed, “Yeah, Jet, shit.”

Gibbs set himself to organizing things before he had to leave on Monday.

.

Remy took his truck back to Gibbs’ place and packed his duffel. Tony did the same at his place, leaving a note for Ducky and Jimmy in case Gibbs missed them. He drove his Hummer to Gibbs’ place, picked up Remy, and headed for their flight to Recruit Training Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois, leaving the Hummer there for Dean and Cosmo to pick up later.

The flight was everything they expected from a military transport to anywhere: cramped, cold, noisy, and annoying. Remy leaned against Tony and slept. Tony did the same, leaning back against Remy.

Everyone on the flight avoided them carefully. They all knew that the two sleepers weren’t going to just jump up and shoot someone or something, but waking them by accidentally kicking their feet or jostling them wasn’t really a good idea. So they were careful.

Due to all the stops on the way, a flight that should have taken a maximum of three hours took nearly five.

Remy woke at each landing, poked Tony, whispered, “Whistle stop, AJ,” and they both went back to sleep.

When they deplaned at O’Hare, they found that they were being met by some greenie who informed them that he was their driver. Tony eyed the over-eager new grad and rolled his eyes. Remy just patted him on the shoulder and sighed. They followed him to the car and settled in for the hour-plus drive from the airport to Great Lakes. Neither one was happy that they weren’t driving but knew better than to pull rank and drive themselves; that way lay badness and an ass-eating from someone high in the Motor Pool. They tended to get pissed when someone hi-jacked their stuff.

They arrived with little fanfare; the driver had given them their official papers and pointed them to their quarters. They went in, dumped their stuff in their room, and went to examine the barracks. 

On the way they met the Base Commander. Tony stopped him, saluted, then asked, “Sir, I was wondering if you could explain why I, as a LtCmdr, have wound up a TO? If you don’t mind.”

The Base Commander sighed and replied, “I don’t mind. In fact, I was coming to speak to you about exactly that. This group is a bunch of ... most of them are at least a CPO and have managed to get out of reserve training for at least the last two years. We need your rank and experience on board.”

Tony nodded. “Thank you for that explanation. I’ll go make some plans now.” His smile reminded the CO of a shark― a pissed-off one.

.

Special Agent Tobias Fornell eyed his junior agent. “Okay, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I realize that you have an obligation to do your two weeks training but you should have known at least three weeks in advance.”

Agent Ronald Sacks shrugged slightly. “I know. I tried to get out of it. I guess it pissed off the PTB so they moved the date up on me. I only found out about it yesterday. I’m really sorry. I have to leave in two days ... this Friday.”

Fornell nodded. “Got it in one. Good luck. I hear they’re really cracking down on skippers this year.”

Sacks winced. He’d managed to skip two years in a row, pleading press of duty to the FBI; this year he wasn’t getting away with that. The deputy director of their unit had made sure that he got a list of everyone in any reserve, and when they were supposed to report he made sure that they got the time off.

Fornell smirked at his least favorite agent. He knew Sacks was a good agent, but he tended to jump to conclusions then try to force the facts to fit his conclusion. He was not a fair-haired boy in more ways than one. He was actually treading on rather thin ice; his attitude toward Tony DiNozzo had gotten him very much out of favor with some rather important people. Tobias had tried to pry the reasons out of Gibbs over the phone but had only been told, “Toby, I’ve got a house full of men and I’m not in the mood to hold your hand, especially over Slacks. Got to go before the burgers burn.” Gibbs had cut off in his usual fashion, leaving Tobias snarling into a dead phone.

Ron Sacks eyed the pile of paperwork on his desk with disgust; it was bound to be twice as high when he got back. He’d been bumped down a grade after that fiasco where he’d arrested DiNozzo for murder, never mind that it had been an almost perfect frame by Charles Sterling. It had been his attitude that had done the damage, not the charges. Now, he was doing his best to get back in Fornell’s good graces and regain the respect he’d lost. 

As he left the floor, Ron Sacks had no idea what was waiting for him.

.

Tony read the brief then handed it to Remy. “Well?”

Remy grumbled, “Damn it, AJ. Gi’ me a sec.” He read quickly, then tossed the folder on Tony’s desk. “Fuck. We got a bunch a’ damn slackers an’ don’-wanna-be’s. We got our damn work cut out for us.” He rubbed his face. “Lucky they’s only 25 a’ ‘em.”

Tony grumbled, “That means there’s twenty-five damn files to read before we meet the fuckers.”

Remy frowned. “Do’an see files.”

Tony pulled the file drawer of his desk open and got the pile of files out. “Here,” he slapped them down on the desk top and picked up the top one. “Get busy.”

They spent the rest of the day reading files, grumbling now and then over the antics that their men had gotten up to to get out of their reserve responsibilities. They both realized that most reservists lived up to their responsibilities with dignity and even enthusiasm; these men― didn’t.

Tony nodded to Remy. “We’ll split the group; you keep an eye on one through twelve; I’ll keep an eye on the rest. Joint double team.”

“Good. I know we’re supposed to be patient with this bunch a’ jackwads ... but ... Christ on a Cracker, don’t fuckin’ sign up if yo’ not gonna do your due. Right?”

Tony mumbled something as he read the CO’s recommendations. The CO was of the opinion that the whole bunch should be treated as raw recruits; they’d all managed at least two years of non-attendance. Tony tended to agree.

Remy sighed, “Nearly done. Only four more to read. Coffee?”

“Please.”

Remy wandered out of their office to see if the coffee pot was still in the same place. He was pretty sure it was, as things didn’t tend to change much.

It was, and it was evidently the local scuttlebutt as there were several men, all dressed in the regulation blues with ball caps tucked into their belts or back pockets. They were all getting coffee so Remy asked, “It okay if I help myself?”

One of the men nodded. “Yeah. We take up a collection on Monday that we hope will last the week. If not, it’s GI until the next collection.”

Remy dug out his billfold and produced a couple of twenty’s. “I’m puttin’ in for me an’ AJ ... DiNozzo.”

There were nods around the group and a few smiles. Remy easily read the name strips so he knew the man’s name when he said, “And AJ DiNozzo would be Honey Badger DiNozzo?”

“Oui.” Remy eyed Catterson for a moment. 

“So, what did he do to get sentenced to this mess?”

“Rank hath its privileges ... and obligations. We been blessed wit’ all the high-ranking slackers.” Remy didn’t bother to try to hide his disgust. “Dis gonna get ugly quick, I tink.”

A CPO named Wilks shook his head. “Lucky you. I do not envy you ... at all. A couple of those men ... well, bless their hearts, they’re just lookin’ for an out that isn’t there.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “We got a Sheriff’s Deputy, three FBI, an’ a couple a cops. An’ you did not just bless their hearts. Seriously?”

“Seriously did. Good luck with that bunch. And remember ... we can’t lay hands on ‘em no matter how badly they deserve it.” And with that, he took his tray of coffee and ambled off.

Remy snorted. “I know. An’ I know ... if they made ya mad enough ta hit ‘em, they too stupid ta learn from it.” He grinned wickedly. “Dat do’an mean we can’t run ‘em inta de groun’, oui?”

A PO named Duprix nodded. “Right, cajun. Just remember ... any runnin’ they do, you do too.”

Remy shrugged. “So? I’m in shape. So’s AJ ... we got a ol’ Marine friend, a real RED, dat can run circles around all a’ dem an’ dance all night.” He finished pouring coffee, stuffed creamer cups and sugar into a pocket, and walked off.

Tony looked up when he walked into the office. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. An’ you owe me twenty. They got a coffee kitty so we don’t drink GI. Glad, me. GI’s just that. Here,” he handed over the cup. “Creamer? Sugar?”

Tony swallowed a slug of hot, black coffee and shook his head. “Nope. Black all the way.”

Remy grimaced but didn’t say anything. He was a bit on guard himself.

Tony picked up a file then snickered, “Oh, man. I do not fuckin’ believe this. We’ve got that FBI jerk Ron Sacks. I’m gonna ruin his mood, big time.”

Remy frowned for a moment. “Who?”

“Slacks. The jerk who put me up on fuckin’ murder charges then got all pissy when they were dismissed. That jerk Chuck set me up. Sterling. Remember?”

Remy frowned for a moment then exclaimed, “Yeah! Yeah, I do.” He smiled wickedly. “An’ you goan do it without violating any rules, regs, or traditions.”

“Am. Don’t need to. I’ll bet he’s in horrible shape and has an attitude that needs adjustment.”

Remy snickered and went back to the file in his hand.

They finished their reading, made some personal notes, then headed out to the Officers’ galley. All Training Officers ate there. Without even thinking about it, they trotted in step. 

.

The Officer’s galley was just that, a bit more elegant than the enlisted, with a bit better food; but it was still GI: bland and beige. They got saluted a bit, especially Tony; and Remy got a couple of looks.

They showed ID at the door and headed for the serving line. Tony nodded to Remy to go ahead. He claimed it was so that Remy acted as taster for him but everyone knew that Tony always went last in the Pod, unless Gibbs forced the issue… then he went last. 

They went through the line of servers, selecting what they wanted. After settling at a table and starting to eat, they were joined by a couple of other officers who just wanted the scuttlebutt on why someone of their rank was being brought in to TO a bunch of reservists.

Tony offered his hand to the man across the table from him while Remy did the same. They told their tale of woe, commiserating with the other officers as they realized that they too were taking on a gaggle of slackers. All four of them got together to make plans on how to handle their groups; they wound up agreeing with the CO that treating them like a bunch of raw recruits might get through to some of them. They were all on the verge of being ‘Other Than Honorably’ discharged, which would be a giant black mark in their jackets; the reasons were everything from chronic insubordination, to refusal to report, to late to station.

Remy shook his head. “What a waste of resources. NCIS is slow, as is Team 6, but damn we got bedda thing ta do.”

Tony poked him. “Ease up there, Sailor; you’re goin’ all cajun on me.”

Remy eyed him for a moment, shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth then mumbled around them, “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

There were chuckles from nearby but no one commented. They were all well aware that everyone here was in for two weeks of long hours, frustration, and short nights; not to mention reams of paperwork.

.

Chapter 2

 

Ron Sacks was not a happy FBI agent; he’d arrived at the departure station to find that they were not going by plane, as planned, but by bus. And it was a school-type bus rather than a tour bus. This was not going to be fun.

He carried his duffel onboard and settled into a seat. His plan had been to sleep as much as he could on the trip to Great Lakes, but that was blown out of the water. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this trip. He checked his tablet and realized that the trip was going to take upwards of twenty hours, depending on route and traffic. He rubbed his face and sighed. “Fuck.”

His seat mate introduced himself as CPO Ramses Great. “Yeah, my Momma hated me. So ... how long is this nightmare going to last?”

“Twenty hours plus. And you will not sleep on me.” 

“Okay, man, don’t get your shorts in a bunch. I’m not that happy about this shit either. Got things to do and places to be that aren’t this.” And with that, Ramses put his feet in the aisle and went to sleep.

Sacks managed to wedge himself into the angle between the seat and window with one foot braced on the leg of the bench seat in front of him and doze off. When the bus started out twenty minutes later they were all awakened by a MCPO shouting at them to answer roll. 

Sacks just yelled, “Yo!” when his name was called and went back to sleep.

Five hours later he pushed Ramses off his shoulder. “Off, man, I am not a bed.”

“Sorry. Had a last shift before I had to report. I’m beat.” Ramses rubbed his face.

“What do you do?” Sacks decided that they’d better stay awake for a bit.

“Bouncer, bodyguard, chauffeur. Anything that requires big, dumb, and strong.” He shrugged. “Good money, and I’m savin’ up to set up my own limo service.”

Sacks nodded. “So ... reserves?”

“Enlisted to get away from my family. The whole bunch of ‘em aren’t worth spit.” Ramses settled back for a chat. “What do you do?”

“FBI. I figured that being in Reserves would impress my superiors there. Not so much.”

They spent the next couple of hours bitching and moaning about having to interrupt their lives to report and gassing over their fellow workers and bosses. Finally, someone told them to shut up or get smacked around. The ranking officer onboard told them all to shut up.

Sacks subsided but Ramses grumbled, “I could’a been at a swanky beach place with a fruity drink and a hot woman; instead I’m here without a drink or a woman. As to hot, you’re all sweaty, but that don’t count.”

Sacks idly wondered why they always arrived at dusk but fell asleep before he could figure it out. 

.

Tony and Remy made sure that all the new issue was organized and ready. They were also authorizing haircuts for every single man. Remy mumbled, “If the TO ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

Tony smirked at him and said, “Thus saith Abby.”

Remy shuddered dramatically. “Remind me never to truly piss that woman off. She’s evil.” He checked one last line on his clipboard. “Ok; towels, wash cloths, sheets, blanket, pillow, pillow case, one new issue NWU, socks, underwear, t-shirts, boots. They’re all gonna whine like kicked bitches when they find out they have to leave everything but their hygiene products behind.”

Tony nodded. “And we’re gonna go through that, and all they get to keep is soap or body wash, shampoo, toothbrush and paste, shaving gear, and medical necessities.”

Remy nodded. “They’re not gonna have time to mess with conditioner, gel, an’ all that.”

One final check of everything led to Tony remarking, “Hope they like having everything a size too large. I double checked their sizes against their records. If they didn’t keep them updated ... tough.”

Remy shrugged. “Just hope they didn’t put on too much weight.” He thought for a moment. “If they did, they’ll just have to put in a requisition for the proper size.”

“Might make them all get remeasured when they get their haircut.”

Remy snickered, “Man, you just as evil as Abby.”

“Well, you knew that all along. Jerk.” Tony poked Remy in the ribs, making him laugh and shoulder him.

“Bitch.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m pretty.”

They laughed together then headed out to make sure that their room suited; their quick check hadn’t done more than make sure that they had the proper uniform.

.

Some TO’s lived in the same barracks as their men, others did not. Tony and Remy did not. 

The feeling, in this case, was that their much higher rank might cause the men to be unable to relax when their ‘day’ was done. But the highest rank in the troupe was Petty Officer First Class, so it was a good thing that Remy was a Master Chief Petty Officer.

They made up their beds themselves; it wouldn’t do to have someone else do it then insist that their men make theirs themselves. They also cleaned the room. They had a small sitting area, so they settled down to just exist for a bit before they went out to greet their group.

They just relaxed until Tony glanced at his watch and said, “Twenty. We better go.” So they headed out at a fast trot.

.

Ron Sacks was half asleep when Ramses poked him. “Nearly there. Better wake up.”

Ron grumbled a bit then said, “Tired. I’ll wake up when it’s time.”

Ramses shrugged. “Your ass. I’m up, got my duffel where I can get to it. You’d be better off to do the same. They’re gonna come out guns blazin’, or I miss my guess.”

“So? What can they actually do?” Sacks wasn’t going to do any more than he had to do. It was up to the TO’s to get him in shape; it wasn’t his job to do more than the minimum.

Ramses just shook his head. He wasn’t happy about being here but he was going to make the best of a bad deal and work with what he had; bucking the system didn’t seem a good way to deal.

.

The bus emptied out to yelling TO’s and the snarling of the bus driver who wanted them off ... now, and he didn’t care if you were trying to wake up or what. “Off! Off! Grab your shit and get!”

Tony bellowed, “Oh! My! God! How the hell did I wind up with such a bunch of girls?” He grimaced as several of the men actually fell down the stairs. “Well, don’t just fuckin’ mill around like cattle ... line the fuck up!” He watched as most of the men managed to get their duffels and line up. The rest didn’t seem to have a clue.

Tony rubbed his face then yelled, “Will you lugnuts get it together? Sometime this century would be nice!” He zeroed in on one man, “Sacks! Damn it, how the hell can you be such a fuck-up? Where’s your duffel?” 

Sacks blinked, groaned, and smarted off, “If you want it so bad, you find it.”

Tony snarled back, “You want to start out with attitude? Fine. I’ll adjust it for you. Find your fuckin’ duffel and get in line.”

Sacks started to say something else, but Ramses threw his duffel at his head, yelled, “Here! Dumbass. Shut the fuck up before we all wind up doing push-ups first thing. FBI my ass; Fools, Bitches, an’ Idiots is more like it.” He dropped his own duffel at his feet and managed a creditable At Ease stance.

Ron kicked his duffel next to Ramses’ and joined him in line.

Tony eyed them both, nodded to Ramses and said, “PO Great,” then went back to yelling at individual idiots.

Remy worked up and down the line, yelling the milling mass into something resembling order.

Tony eyed the mess and growled. He introduced himself. “My name is LtCmdr Anthony Jethro DiNozzo. You will call me LtCmdr, Sir, or some combination of that accompanied by my Patronymic. You will not call me Tony, or DiNozzo. Are we clear?”

A rather ragged, ‘Yes, sir.’ greeted this. He took exception to that at the top of his lungs. “I cannot hear you! If you’re that short of breath, we’ll work on it. Try again!”

This time everyone managed to yell, “Sir! Yes, Sir!”

Tony went on to introduce his partner. “This is Master Chief Petty Officer Remiel Andre Devereaux. You will address him as Master Chief, Master Chief Petty Officer, Sir, or some combination of the aforesaid along with his Patronymic of Devereaux. Are we clear?”

“Sir! Yes, Sir!” Everyone braced for more yelling.

“All right! You are now my command, God help me, for the next two weeks. First off, all duffels will be inspected, and you will keep personal hygiene products only. While that is being done, you’ll get a haircut. So, move out! Now!” The men started to walk off, moaning and bitching on the way. This got them another earful. “Christ on a damn cracker! You people think someone else is gonna hump your shit? Pick up your damn duffel and run, you useless bunch of jackwads! You are wasting my time! Go!” He watched as the group scurried past him.

Remy offered as he ran by, “Not that bad. Could be worse ... maybe?”

Tony snarled. “Slacks. I got fuckin’ Slacks. I hate that jerk.”

“Slacks? No Slacks. Got a Sacks, R.” Remy was confused.

“I’ve called the jerk Slacks for years. Sacks, R.” Tony eyed the running group. “You! German! Move it!” He caught up with the group, cursing himself for his inattention. “If I see more than two feet between one man and the next one ... You’re gonna regret it. Bunch up!”

The men managed to space themselves out properly and arrived at the barber in decent time. They were told to drop all their duffels on a row of tables near the door and line up. There was a lot of bitching and complaining, most of it mumbled, but no one paid any attention. 

Tony got the men lined up and started to go check duffels, until he saw a man leaning on the wall. “Oh! My! God! You are not leaning on my wall! I know you aren’t! Stand up! That’s my wall and no one leans on it. No one! You got me? Stand the fuck up straight!” The leaning Petty Officer, who should have known better, jerked himself upright. “Attention! And you will stand there until told otherwise! Am I clear?” Since the PO was at attention, Tony didn’t actually expect him to reply. However, he was now going to be standing at attention until the next to last man got his haircut. 

Tony noted, and pointed out to Remy, that several of the men had taken the offensive and gotten a Boot Buzz; they got another haircut anyway, but Tony and Remy marked them for a look-see.

Ramses wasn’t that happy about his new ‘do; he’d been growing dreads for a year and wasn’t that happy to have to start again. But, he knew he’d messed up by not reporting, so he kept his mouth shut. Sacks, on the other hand, put everyone’s backs up by announcing, “I’m a Senior Agent in the FBI and I don’t have to get a buzz cut.” 

He started to leave but he was blocked by Tony, Remy, and one of the barbers.

Tony eyed him for a moment then snarled, “You will get in one of those chairs and get a haircut or I’ll put you on report for insubordination. What’ll it be?”

Ron Sacks wasn’t stupid, just stubborn and wrong-headed. “You’re just doing this because you’re pissed I put you up on murder charges.”

Tony shook his head. “Sacks, I don’t give a flying fuck about that. Gibbs proved you wrong, charges dismissed, not even a smudge on my record, either NCIS or SEAL. You’re just pissed because you were proven wrong. Now ... look at my shoulders ...” 

Sacks actually looked. 

“What do you see?” 

Sacks grumbled, “A LtCmdr’s bars and star.”

Tony barked, “I didn’t hear that.”

“A LtCmdr’s bars and star, Sir!” Sacks managed to get it out loud and clear.

“And don’t you fuckin’ forget it. And you’re a damn slacker. Get in a damn chair.” Tony pointed, Sacks jumped to obey, grimacing when he realized that he had flinched when Tony got in his face.

As they returned to the table to finish the rummage through all the duffels, Tony took mercy on the leaner and yelled at him to ‘Hit a chair, now!’ No one complained about allowing him to jump the line. 

Remy was going through a duffel, grumbling.

“What’s got your shorts in a knot?” Tony started on the nearest duffel. 

Remy pulled out a massive dopp kit and dumped it. “This. Shampoo, okay. Conditioner, no. Razor, okay. Shaving gel, okay. Stinkin’ Axe shit ... yuck. Hair gel, hair spray, mousse, and wax. Can I just say ... what the everlovin’ fuck? And no deodorant anywhere.” He removed the offending items and dropped them into the trash. “And year after year we tell ‘em not to bring this shit and year after year they do. He also doesn’t have a toothbrush, paste, or mouthwash. What a pig.” He held up a wild Hawaiian shirt. “And this shit. Seriously?” He got a cardboard box, wrote the name on it, and dumped all the clothing that wasn’t GI reg into it. It joined a pile of similar boxes against the wall.

It took them nearly as long to get through the duffels as it did to get the haircuts done.

When everyone was lined up to collect their duffels Tony addressed the group. “Okay, you’ll notice that your shit has been sorted. You do not have time for gel, mousse, or any of that shit. It’s in the trash. You were told not to bring it. You have been issued GI; use it. Your other clothing, except for what is reg, is in a box. You’ll get it back when you leave. Your issue is in front of your duffel ... grab it and head out.” He watched as everyone scurried forward to grab their gear and run for the barracks. He shook his head. “If you snicker, I swear I’ll swat you.”

Remy managed to keep a straight face. “Yeah, we better follow that bunch a’ idjets before they get lost and hurt themselves.”

It took another hour to get the reservists bedded down as Tony insisted that all beds be properly made before anyone got to sleep. This meant that, when your bed was properly made, you stood At Ease until all beds were “shipshape and Bristol fashion.” Needless to say, making your crew mates stand around while you fucked up making a bed didn’t earn you any friendship points. 

Sacks made his bed, then stood at the foot. MCPO Devereaux came around, took one look, and yelled, “Christ on a crutch! What the hell is that? You do not just twist the corners into a knot and stuff it under the mattress.” He ripped the covers off and ordered, “Miter the damn corners. And I will bounce a quarter off that bed, or you’ll do it again.” 

Sacks eyed him, then mouthed off, “Well, it was good enough for my Momma.”

“I am not, thank God, your Momma. And you will make the bed Navy-approved ... after giving me ten sit-ups and ten push-ups. And watch your damn mouth. I’m not your friend, and I’m not putting up with that shit,” he glared around, “from anyone. Get to it.”

It was near midnight before they got to bed.

.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a happy man. He hated leaving Tim alone to deal with three new people. Dean and Cosmo were new to the team, and Dorneget was nearly a complete unknown. He knew that Leon was keeping an eye on them, but he was still nervous. He also knew that it was past time for Tim to be given more responsibilities. He knew; he just didn’t like it. But he had to report on Monday, so he sucked it up and dealt.

He didn’t bother to have a talk with either Dean or Cosmo, as they had all talked all this stuff over in the past. Instead he did laundry and cleaned guns. Dean and Cosmo read case files and put up with his snapping and snarling. Neither one of them blamed him a bit; no one wanted to put up with a bunch of new recruits or retreads.

He finally packed his duffel, got in his car, and drove to Quantico. He was displeased in the extreme to find out that he’d been loaned to the Navy and was going to Great Lakes to teach sharpshooting to a bunch of reservists. He snarled sourly, ordered some poor derp to take his car back to his house, and stomped off to the air strip.

He approached the Loadmaster to tell him that he was carrying “private arms.” The Petty Officer turned out to be a rather sour-faced woman by the name of Randy. She gave him a side-oogle, then said, “Keep it close, Master Gunny,” then returned to her clipboard and earpiece. Gibbs just boarded, found a space, and settled in.

Takeoff was no problem, but the screaming, crying kids and harassed-looking women who’d crowded around him were. The layover somewhere or other to pick up he didn’t care what didn’t help. He was working on a headache until he was called by name. “Gibbs ... Master Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?”

“Yo!” Gibbs stood and gathered his gear; he was not about to leave anything to the busy fingers of a bunch of bored kids. “What’s up?”

The airman grinned. “Figured you needed rescue. This way.” He led the way behind a pallet of boxes. “Sit.”

Gibbs settled in the hollow created by several piles of pallets. “Nice. Thanks.”

The airman nodded. “Coffee? Thermos, but I got it at Starbucks before we took off.”

Gibbs produced his own thermos from his duffel. “No, but thanks for the thought.” They settled in companionable semi-silence; most of the noise was blocked by the pallets, the rest was muted by the sound of the engines. 

It wasn’t long before they were joined by a couple more airmen with their own coffee. “So. Who knows a good one?”

Gibbs settled back to indulge in the old military pastime of Toppers. “Okay. Who’s going to start?” They all looked at each other, reluctant to start but wanting to get on with things. Finally one of the men produced a pack of greasy cards and they cut for starter.

The airman that won started out, “No shit, man. There we were ...” They spent the next two hours swapping stories. 

Gibbs looked at his watch then asked, “How long is this flight actually going to take?”

The Master Sergeant shrugged. “You know how it goes, should take about three ... four hours. We get diverted again? Who the fuck knows.”

The navigator dropped by just then to tell them, “We’ve been diverted to Columbus, Ohio, with a layover of an hour.”

Gibbs sighed; there went his hopes of getting in in any kind of daylight. “Well, fuck.”

The layover took exactly an hour, which put them two hours behind time. Gibbs crossed his arms over his chest and propped himself up by bracing his feet against the pallet opposite him and went to sleep.

He woke up when someone nudged his feet and said, “Master Guns, we’re readying for landing. Brace yourself.”

He grunted and resettled in a more upright position and prepared for landing. The landing wasn’t rougher than normal, but several women screamed and most of the younger kids started crying, again. Gibbs picked up his rifle case and duffel and wedged himself into an odd corner. He intended to stay there until most of the dependent passengers were offloaded. He was not about to get stuck trying to make his way through a milling throng of confused adults and screaming, crying kids.

He succeeded and finally deplaned along with the crew. He glanced around, hoping for a ride, and saw a sailor standing by a jeep. “You lookin’ for me?”

“Gibbs?” 

Gibbs nodded, “That’s me.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” The man looked half scared, half excited.

“I got a bivvy? Or do I get some squat?” He was not looking forward to winding up in some shack that Housing considered “acceptable quarters.” The last time, he’d wound up in a converted workshop that had no hot water and was nearly a mile from anything.

“We managed a good spot for you. Here’s your orders ... and I’m to see you to your quarters, sir.” The sailor climbed into the driver’s seat, and Gibbs put his luggage behind the back seat, then took the passenger side; he wasn’t about to sit in back like some CO. “Well, we’re off.”

Gibbs ignored the boy’s driving with aplomb; he was used to Ziva’s driving, this was little-old-lady-driving-to-church stuff in comparison. He opened the file and read. It didn’t take him long to groan, “Shit! I get to nurse-maid a bunch of slackers? Great.” The driver made a sympathetic noise. When Gibbs got to who he was going to partner with, he smiled; the list of fellow Training Officers was familiar. 

The driver offered, “I heard you have to work with some Squid. Maybe it won’t be so bad. You’ll be running the firing range for a couple of SEALs who’ve got to have pissed off someone high up or something, ‘cause they’ve got a bunch of Reservists that slacked off at least two years. And a couple of groups of up-and-comers that need to qualify for Spec. Ops. and shit.”

Gibbs blinked for a moment, clicked that the man was Navy, not Air Force, then asked, “And you know this ... how?”

The man cheerfully replied, “Scuttlebutt’s a bitch, ain’t it? You know how it goes.”

Gibbs snorted and agreed, “I do.”

He was pleasantly surprised when they pulled up in front of a small Quonset hut. Since he was only going to be here for two weeks, he wasn’t about to rent anything so he had to settle for WWII vintage temporary housing. It wasn’t as bad as some places he’d stayed and it was close to the firing range, not that that bothered him that much. He just wasn’t that fond of humping a rifle and a case of ammo across the base. 

He got out of the jeep, thanked the driver, returned his salute then got his things and went inside. He was happy to see that the place was clean and in good order; it was also one bedroom, which meant he was a singleton. The kitchen was 1950’s military, but functional and well stocked with food. Gibbs was going to eat most of his meals in the galley, but he was glad to see enough of this and that that he could scramble up a quick meal if he needed to. And he’d brought his own grind, of course, so coffee wasn’t going to be a problem. The only problem was the almost total lack of dishes and flatware. 

After checking the bedroom to make sure the bed was made, Gibbs wandered back into the kitchen to make coffee. As he waited for it to brew he unpacked his duffel and put his things away. It was late evening, but he knew he had to be up early to go over lesson plans with the other trainers and staff. He grumbled softly, turned on the TV, and sat on the couch, drinking coffee and watching the news and weather, casually flipping through his orders as he did so. He was relieved to find that he only had two four hour classes a day; one started at the unbelievable hour of 0800, the other started at 1400. He grumbled a bit but resolved to run the grinder in the morning, eat good meals, and spend the evening cleaning and repairing small arms.

.

Tony woke at 0430 on the dot, ten seconds before Remy did. He threw his covers back, got dressed, then made the bed. He joined Remy in the kitchenette for coffee, then they headed out to wake their group. They did this by banging the door to the barracks open and yelling, “Good morning, ladies! Up! Up! Rise and shine! If you can’t shine, get the fuck up anyway!”

The moaning and bitching didn’t deter them at all. Remy continued to yell while Tony gave the sleepyheads his personal attention. This included screaming as near their ears as he felt safe and, if all else failed, tipping their racks over with them still in them. He did this to two men: Sacks and some red-headed guy who rejoiced in the name of Randy Red. 

“You have won the Clean Barracks Award. While we all go eat, you’ll police the barracks before you do the same. Get busy!” Remy eyed the newly made bunks, yanked the covers off three, and announced, “You three join the two sleeping beauties. The rest of us are leaving.”

And with that the whole group, minus the five who were already in hot water, left for breakfast. This was the last morning they’d eat before PT. Not that they got to take it easy this morning. Tony and Remy moved up and down the line barking and snarling.

They lined up, got their food, and sat down where Remy pointed. This was interesting to most of the men, as Remy informed them, “Fine. Look to the left of you.” He waited a moment, then yelled, “Oh! My! God! Are all of you slow? Look! Left!” Everyone looked. “Now look right.” They obeyed. “Remember who is on your left and right as they are members of your squad. Everyone on your side of the table is a member of your squad. You will sleep with them, eat with them, sweat with them, run with them. And they will do the same with you. You’ll either elevate each other to the heights, or drag each other to the depths. Now eat!”

So they all ate. Remy and Tony wolfed down their food, sitting at the head and foot of the table, the last time they would sit with the men. They were joined by Sacks and his companions just in time for them to sit where they were told and wolf down cream of wheat and toast, the only things left.

Sacks kept his mouth shut, as he was hungry and knew that, if he mouthed off, he’d be doing PT instead of eating. He also knew that no one could actually force him to do anything; but refusal could lead to a court martial, and he didn’t want any part of that particular exercise.

When Tony was done, he stood up and started yelling again. “I swear ... I’ve never seen such a bunch of slow-ass motherfuckers in my life. If you’re not done in ten seconds ... you’ll be on report. Move it! Move it! Move it!” Remy took one side of the table and Tony the other and they ‘motivated’ their men to eat faster and get going. 

As they scurried out the door, Tony whispered to Remy, “What do you wanna bet that at least half of ‘em puke?”

“No bet. I intend that my whole squad re-learns the concept of PT, then eat.” Remy gave Tony an evil grin.

Tony returned it, muttering, “Bet all mine puke.”

They chivvied the whole platoon to the Great Lakes version of the Grinder, yelling at most of them at one time or the other to pick up the pace. Tony told two of them, “If you don’t keep up, you’re out. If you’re out, that means out of the Reserves. You’re a Bug Company reject.”

He overheard someone mutter, “Man, that DiNozzo is really a belt-fed son-of-a-bitch.”

He walked up behind him and yelled, “I am, and don’t you forget it! Now run!”

They ran, and ran, and ran. Several of Remy’s men dropped out, panting too hard to continue. Remy rounded on them, yelled, “Hydrate! Then get up and run!” He waited until they had gotten a drink, had a medic go over them, then turned into a screaming fiend, barking at their heels until they caught up with the group.

Ron Sacks noticed that both Remy and Tony weren’t sweating, despite the fact that they’d run twice as far as the platoon, screaming all the while. He was disgusted; in general and in particular. In general, he’d thought he was in good shape, he wasn’t; he’d thought he was prepared for this, he wasn’t. In particular, he realized that he was at the mercy of a man he’d put up for murder. He sighed; now all he had to do was get over things, man up and deal. He panted his way through another fifty yards before he had to drop out and puke. Twice.

Tony jumped on that. “What the hell, Sacks? You’re FB fuckin’ I. You’re supposed to be in shape. Jimmy’s in better shape than that and he’s an ME.” He got right in Sacks’ face. “I’m gonna make fuckin’ sure that you’re in shape. The kind a’ shape you’re supposed to be in. And when’s the last fuckin’ time you qualified with your damn sidearm?”

Sacks winced. He’d also managed to skip qualifying for six months over his due date. “I’m qualified.”

“Bet.” Tony’s tone of voice was doubtful; his expression said he didn’t believe Sacks for a second.

Sacks turned sullen, “Well, I am.”

Remy, who’d been keeping the non-puking members going, trotted back. “Problem?”

“PO Sacks claims to have qualified on schedule. We’ll be checking that out.” Tony jerked his head at Sacks. “Move out.”

Sacks hurried to rejoin the platoon. He knew he was busted, but hoped to bluff it out.

By halfway through the grinder, every single man in the platoon had dropped out to puke. Remy and Tony made sure that they stayed hydrated, yelling at them to drink at regular intervals and making sure that they did exactly that. It helped that there were barrels with bottles of water and sports drink sprinkled all over the place. Medics were also placed at strategic points along the way.

By the time they reached the end of the Grinder and the team obstacles, the group was about done. They’d make it through the last parts if they cooperated; if they didn’t, it was a fail and they’d be back after an hour’s rest to try the whole thing over.

Remy shook his head sadly; their two groups were already at each other’s throats, each group trying to get a leg over the other. One-upsmanship at its worse. Tony waded in to pull Ramses out of the muck with one hand, while he used the other to push Randy off his back. “Damn it! Great is not a stepstool. You could have drowned him. I’m gonna adjust your attitude. Gimme twenty push-ups and twenty sit-ups. Get going. And I better hear you count every one.”

He set Ramses to watch Red, telling him, “Since you’re the one he decided made a good stool, you can make sure he counts. Then catch up.”

Ramses just nodded, crossed his muddy arms over his wet chest and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” His expression let Tony know that he had his doubts about that.

“If that jackwad won’t cooperate on the team obstacles, go around ‘em.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Tony headed off to rescue another couple who’d gotten themselves into grief on a rope climb.

This time he had to climb to the top, pull the man up to the beam, then help him get a grip there. After untangling the man’s ankle, around which he’d somehow managed to get the rope wrapped, he demanded, “How the fuckin’ hell did you manage that piece of stupidity?”

“I relied on my partner to belay me properly, Sir. He didn’t, Sir.” The man was obviously upset, so Tony told him to rest a moment, then he’d belay him himself.

Tony rappelled down the rope and held it while the other man slid down. “You okay to go on?” Tony was going to be a bastard about some things, but not about something like this. Hanging upside down by one ankle wasn’t a skinned knee.

“Yeah ... I mean, Yes, Sir.”

“Good man. Carry on.”

He followed the man to make sure that he really was good to go, no limp, no stiffness. He seemed okay, so Tony passed him to bark and snarl at a few men who seemed to think they could do it all themselves. He caught up to the man who was supposed to help the guy who’d wound up upside down and stopped him. He spent a minute or two chewing him out, ending, “Partners have each other’s six. You didn’t even stop to see if he was okay. Twenty and twenty. Count loud so I know you’re not skipping.”

It took another half an hour to get everyone to the end of the course. Tony told them to stand at ease then paced in front of the line. “Well, that was the most pathetic mess I’ve seen in years. Most of you did decent, but a few of you dragged the whole group down. Partners help each other. They don’t run off and leave their other half hanging. In one case, literally. I’ll partner you up and you’ll do everything together. If that fails, I’ll figure something else out. Do not make me do that. You won’t like it. Now. Chow in ten.” He took off, letting the platoon straggle after him. 

Remy took exception to that and screamed, “Jesus on a mop stick! Space out and keep up!” The platoon managed to space themselves properly and keep up. Tony dropped back to snarl at a couple of slackers and check on Ramses and the man who’d been hung. They were both moving easily, although Ramses was scattering small chunks of drying mud as he ran. 

The platoon returned to barracks to clean up before lunch, Tony and Remy took the opportunity to make notes and put their heads together.

“We got our job cut out for us, AJ. I’m sure I’ve seen worse, but not since boot.” Remy scrubbed his face with a wash rag.

Tony was washing the dust from his arms as he replied, “Seriously. What a bunch of fuckin’ rejects. Sacks has a mouth on him that I’m gonna have to deal with. And that Red guy, using his partner as a step. What the fuck?”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Who the hell names their kid Randy Red anyway? Guy’s got to have some sort of complex.”

Tony agreed. “Seriously. His Mom must have hated him.”

Remy finished his quick wipe down, rinsed the wash rag and gave it a quick wring. “Ready.”

Tony also finished his wash and headed out the door. “Me too. Let’s go eat.”

There was a separate crew that kept the recruits and reservists on track in the galley; Tony and Remy went to the Officers galley to eat.

They joined the same men they’d eaten dinner with and settled in to indulge in the long-time military tradition of bitching.

Tony moaned, “Man, you should see the idiots I’ve got. One actually used his partner as a damn stepping stone. Another left his partner hangin’ ... by the ankle from a rope. Seriously. I have my doubts about half of them. More if what happens on the range is what I think is gonna happen.” he shook his head over a fork of mashed potatoes.

A Chief Petty Officer shook his head. “We went to the range. I swear, that Marine in charge is ... a wild man. He had to call two men out for dirty weapons ... I think they’re still cleaning them. And he’s got eyes like two hawks ... saw a target half way down range that wasn’t quite right ... called the range manager on it. He’s damn good.”

Tony shrugged, “And what’s the name of this paragon?”

“Um ... Gibbs. Mean bastard, you have no idea.”

Tony, who’d just taken a sip of coffee, nearly choked. “Gibbs? Seriously? Oh, man. Great.”

Remy just grinned. “We need look him up soon.”

Tony shrugged, “Why bother? He’ll be our range officer; we can hook up with him then.”

They finished their meal and headed for the Enlisted galley to collect their men. They weren’t going to risk more puking, as dehydration could become a problem. Instead, they were going to clean the barracks and remake beds, all afternoon. They were also going to go over weapons maintenance, alternating between the two.

This meant that they were going to spend the afternoon alternately explaining things and yelling. Push-ups and sit-ups were the order of the day.

Tony eyed Remy who eyed him right back. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s put wheels under this bitch.”

They trotted back to the enlisted galley and collected their men. The run back to barracks didn’t take that long, but it left half the men short of breath and green. Tony shook his head. “You’re the sorriest bunch of rejects I’ve seen since boot. Start cleaning.”

He and Remy stood around watching as each man started to clean the area near his rack. Tony shot a disgusted look at Remy then yelled, “Stop! What the bloody blue blazes do you think you’re doing? Or are you thinking at all?” He waited a moment then ordered, “Line up.” The whole platoon scurried to line up. “Space out!” they each put their right hand on the shoulder of the man to their right then shuffled around until they were spaced properly. “Good job on that.” Tony managed that awful sarcasm that made even Gibbs wince. “Sound off, one, two.” He pointed at a man on one end of the line. He promptly yelled, “One, Sir!” They numbered down the line. And Tony pointed to Remy. “Two’s with him! One’s mop and bucket. Move it!” There was more rushing around as the two’s hurried to Remy for further orders while the one’s ran for mops and buckets. 

It didn’t take long before each group was pissing and moaning. The Two group were set to cleaning their gear, including the dummy weapons they’d gotten in their issue. These were non-working models of an issue pistol and rifle, which they would disassemble, clean, and reassemble until Remy was satisfied with their time. They got non-firing models because working weapons weren’t allowed in their hands until Tony approved it. The One’s formed a mop brigade, spaced across the length of the barracks with mops and buckets of water. They’d mop the floor from end to end, including showers and any other flat, floor-appearing surface Tony pointed to, until Tony was satisfied that it was clean.

This was accomplished with much yelling and swearing from both Remy and Tony. No one could do anything exactly right, according to them, which necessitated doing it over again until it met their approval. And they were very particular; one hair, speck of dust, or lint and the whole thing had to be done again. 

The whole afternoon went much as Remy and Tony had expected. The floors got mopped twice by the Two’s and three times by the One’s; this was because Sacks was in group one and had kicked over his bucket after being pushed by the man to his left because he’d slopped dirty water up his shins. This resulted in Sacks and the other man doing push-ups and sit-ups alternately until the other eight men in the group finished re-mopping the whole floor.

Remy examined the last weapon of group One and announced, “Finally! I do not believe I’ve seen a sorrier group of Reserve fuck-ups since my last promotion. If this is the best you can do... I’m worried. Seriously worried. And I don’t like being worried. So.... fix it!” 

Tony added a few pithy remarks of his own, advising the platoon to correct themselves or suffer for it. This led to some shuffling and grumbling, but Tony snarled, “If anyone has anything worth my time to hear, sing out.” He gave them a moment then snorted, “Thought not.” He eyed his watch and realized that it was later than he’d thought. “Chow in ten, anyone late loses out.” Then they left

Sacks eyed the window, making sure that DiNozzo and that Cajun mess were both gone. They passed the window and disappeared down the street. He sighed, “Man, I hate that fucker. He’s... arrogant, ignorant, and... and... Gah!” he snarled wordlessly. 

His barrack mates mostly ignored him, but Ramses told him, “Scuttlebutt says he’s a SEAL. Don’t know what your problem with him is, but you better cool it. Take a pill or whatever. We’ve got to deal with him for 13 more days. If you screw this up for me... I won’t be pleased. Now... here’s the way... shut your pie hole and keep your head down. You yap an’ he’s gonna zero in on you... and everyone around you. That means your squad. That includes me. Got me?”

“I’m sure. And, if that was a threat, I’ll inform you right now that I am FBI and that’s threatening a federal officer.” Sacks gave Ramses a satisfied look.

Ramses eyed him right back. “And I don’t give a fuck. I gave my last fuck years ago. If you get me into trouble by antagonizing a fuckin’ LtCmdr... well, I’m gonna be very pissed.” And with that he headed out for the galley, followed by all their squad and most of the rest of the platoon.

.

Tony and Remy returned to their quarters and settled for quick, cold showers before they headed out to eat. Dinner in Officer’s galley was usually not considered formal so they put on Service Khaki uniforms and left for dinner

They didn’t stay in the galley long, just long enough to get their dinner, stuff it down and leave again. Both of them were uncomfortable in the crowded and noisy galley, so they got out as soon as they could. By doing that, they missed Gibbs as he made his way into the Non-Com’s galley across the hall. 

Gibbs also missed seeing Tony and Remy when a group of giggling Petty Officers cut him off as they scampered into the galley. He frowned at them, thinking, “God, they get younger and sillier every day.” He entered the galley on their heels and added himself to the end of the line. He needed to show his vouchers, so he had them in hand. He went through the line, selecting as balanced a meal as he could manage, then showed his voucher to the clerk at the end of the line. He’d much rather have eaten in the Officer’s Galley, as he could order off a limited menu, but this would do. 

He forked up a bite of the smothered steak and wondered as he chewed why they called it smothered. It was just a hamburger patty covered in brown onion gravy; he also had a ball of stiff mashed potatoes and some rather sad looking broccoli. The cake, however, was moist, tender, and not too sweet. The icing was also very good. The coffee was― acceptable, barely.

He finished his second cup, refused a third, then got up. He wondered exactly where Tony and Remy were assigned. He knew they were on the same base. He also knew that they were probably very busy; records had to be kept and PT decisions made, but he was hoping to link up with them at least once before they showed up on his range.

He thought for a moment then settled at the bar. This bar was one of the newer ones, remodeled within the last two or three years and was a combined NCO/CO bar. This was a newer idea; the PTB felt that it created an atmosphere in which Noncoms and Commissioned could exchange ideas and opinions without fearing repercussions or yes-sir-ing. It did seem to work.

So he ordered a bourbon and water and settled to exchange scuttlebutt with anyone who’d sit near him. It was a bit early for the gossips to be out, but he could hope. It turned out that the bartender was the old-fashioned type. 

“Looks like you’re asking yourself a question?” The bartender stood in front of Gibbs, wiping the surface of the bar.

“Yeah. I know a friend of mine ... two of them in fact, are here. I don’t want to go through official channels to find them, as I just want to hook up with them for a drink or two after duty. DiNozzo and Devereaux. Any ideas?” Gibbs sipped at his drink, savoring the Wild Turkey; he waited patiently while the bartender thought.

“DiNozzo I’ve heard of ... Honey Badger. Yeah. But Devereaux? Not sure.”

Gibbs thought for a moment then said, “Might know him as LeBeau. He and DiNozzo are a team.”

“Yeah, LeBeau. The two of them are bivvied at...” He fished around and wrote an address on a napkin and handed it over.

Gibbs smiled into his drink. They were only about a city block away from him. “Thanks. I’ll look ‘em up tomorrow. If they ask for me, I’m a couple of blocks away. That WWII Quonset. It’s not bad, better than some.” He finished his drink, tossed some money on the bar and left, nodding to the bartender as he walked by.

He walked right by Tony and Remy’s place on his way home. He glanced at the place, but didn’t go up to the door; the windows were dark, so they were either tormenting their platoon or asleep.

.

 

Chapter 3

 

Tim McGee was not a happy temporary Team Lead. Gibbs was gone, as were AJ and Remy. Dean and Cosmo were trying their best to help him, and he appreciated it more than he could say. But Abby was in full revolt, and Ducky and Jimmy weren’t happy about that. Dorneget was doing his best, but he was a null when it came to picking sides. He wasn’t about to get in the middle of a power struggle; Tim couldn’t blame him much.

They’d been put on cold cases as a stopgap until Vance could tell if Dorneget was going to work out or not. Tim wasn’t too worried about that; cold cases were good break-in material, and it always looked good if you broke one. He was hoping to break at least one.

Dean ambled in just then with coffee and doughnuts. “I’m headed down to see Ducky and Jimmy. Our usual morning break. Comin’?”

Tim enjoyed the time they spent in the Morgue drinking coffee, eating pastries, and talking with the wise older man. And Jimmy was pretty smart too. “I am. Dorneget?”

Ned looked up from his place at the ‘auxiliary’ desk, the one that used to be behind the wall to Tim’s right. “Sorry. What was the question?”

Dean nodded at the tray of coffees and bag of doughnuts in his hands. “Wanna join us for break?”

“Yes, please. Where are we going?” Dorneget got up and took the bag from Dean.

“Morgue. We have a sit-down with Ducky and Jimmy when we have time. Good stories, good coffee. And Ducky makes a mean cup of tea. Shit’ll dissolve your spoon. ’S good, though.”

“Sounds good to me. Lead on.” Ned punched the elevator button, the doors opened at once and Dean, Cosmo, and Tim entered the elevator behind him. 

Ducky smiled when they all trooped in. “Welcome! Welcome! So glad to see you all. We just put my last client away. Jimmy?”

Jimmy smiled from his tiny desk. “All cleaned up. I was just getting ready to get up and make some tea. Earl Grey?”

“Please. And a bit on the strong side, if you don’t mind?

Jimmy snickered. No one wondered about that; Ducky’s idea of “a bit on the strong side” would mug you if you weren’t careful. “On it.” Jimmy plugged in the electric kettle, which he’d filled earlier in anticipation of needing tea just about now.

Dean handed out coffee while Cosmo put the pastries out on the bag, which he tore into a serving tray. Jimmy brought the tea pot to the improvised table and pulled the last chair up. “Well, what’s the what on who?”

They spent a few minutes on Vance, who was in a temper over some problem in Rota. Then they went on to snicker over the word on Dr. Symons; he’d returned to Chicago to be raked over the coals about the breach he’d created between NCIS and DC PD; there wasn’t actually one, but his supervisor used that as an excuse to give him a thirty-day suspension with a professional censure and oversight put in place. He was in deep shit without a shovel, as Cosmo said. Cosmo offered, “Heard a word about AJ and Remy.” 

He settled back to tease his friends a bit, but Jimmy eyed him. “You really want to go on the mats with me?”

Cosmo shook his head with a horrified expression. “Oh, hell no. You know way too much about pressure points. So, anyway ... seems that AJ has someone in his platoon that he ... kinda really, really doesn’t like much. Some ass wipe named Sacks?”

Tim opened his mouth, started to say something, then shut it. He tried again then just started laughing.

Abby walked in just then with results, so she demanded to know why Tim was laughing like a loon. When she learned who was in Tony’s platoon, she started to laugh too. 

When Dean and Cosmo demanded the story, Abby started, “Ya’ll ain’t gonna believe this shit, but ...” and went on to tell her part of the tale. Ducky interjected from time to time, as did Jimmy and Tim. Ned asked a question from time to time. When the tale was done Dean shook his head. “Seriously? What a dick. AJ’ll eat him alive.”

Ducky frowned a bit. “Isn’t that ... unprofessional?”

Cosmo shook his head. “It’ll all be fair and aboveboard. He’ll just pick nits until Sacks learns to think instead of be a dickish jerk.”

Dean sighed. “And he’ll clean until he hates the smell of Lysol with a passion.”

Abby sighed. “I miss all three of them. I wish they’d hurry back.”

“Two weeks, Abs. No getting out of it. But ... they’ll have a four-day weekend when they get back. So that’ll be nice.”

Abby brightened at that. “Road trip? I could be follower.”

Jimmy nodded, and agreed, “Yeah, and you could change off with Tim. He can drive Gibbs’ truck.” He noted her expression. “Now, Abby, what good is a follower who doesn’t have any parts? I don’t see you managing to stuff a spare tire into your hot rod. And all that grease and oil? Ruin your upholstery.”

Abby sighed. “You’re right. And ... long distance isn’t really good for it either. It’s a hot rod, not a cruiser. But ... fun will be had. I declare it so.” She stood up, struck a dramatic stance, then started giggling. She trotted out, calling over her shoulder. “Your results are in that folder, Tim. Get busy.”

Tim sighed and picked up the folder to read the results while he finished his coffee.

.

It was now three days in and the reservist platoon was down three men. They’d ‘rung the bell’, as Remy and Tony called it. They’d requested release from service and been granted it. It saved the service a lot of aggravation to release them; it was a voluntary dishonorable discharge, so to speak. People who’d do that weren’t worth the trouble to keep.

They’d also lost two men to injury. One idiot had managed to sprain his ankle because he didn’t lace his boots, preferring the gangsta look of flapping laces which he’d stepped on going up the steps into the galley. The resultant sprain put him out of commission and sent home with a demotion in grade and a formal reprimand.

The other injury was a bit worse; the man who’d left his partner dangling from the climbing rope had run off on his partner again. Only this time, he’d been dumb enough to run right into an obstacle and concuss himself. His partner carried him out of the Grinder on his shoulders, cussing him all the way. 

This put the platoon down to two squads of ten men each. In a way, both Tony and Remy were glad; the deadwood was trimmed, and they now had a more manageable ten men each.

Some teams kept a sleep-in TO, other’s didn’t. Tony didn’t. He felt that the men needed the down time in the evening. He also knew it led to some behaviors that weren’t sanctioned; a surprise inspection put a stop to most of the problems on the second night. He also intended to introduce hand-to-hand; added to an intensive program of PT, running, Grinder, and light arms training, he hoped they’d be too tired to get into much. 

So this morning he woke up the few late sleepers in his usual way. “Good Morning, ladies! Rise and shine! Up! UP!” The five men who insisted on sleeping until Tony woke them, staggered out of bed. 

Sacks was one of the lay-abouts, and he grumbled his way out of bed to stand blinking at Tony blearily. “I’m up. Damn it.” He turned to make his bed but Tony’d had more than enough of his shit by now. 

“I know you’re up, numbnuts. It’s not enough. Give me twenty each.” Sacks snarled but dropped to begin twenty sit-ups and twenty push-ups. “And when you’re done with that ... put on your boots and take ten laps around the compound.” There was no actual compound at Great Lakes ―hadn’t been since the late 1800’s― but the base was divided into squares of an acre each, which were referred to as compounds; one lap was 834.5 feet, 10 laps were 8345 feet or just over a mile and a half. Sacks should be able to finish this in around fifteen minutes at a fast jog. Tony expected Sacks to take no more than twenty minutes to finish his punishment. He also assigned the same to the other two grumblers and asked the last two lazy bones if they wanted a dose. They both shook their heads and hurried to make their beds.

After finishing their sit-ups and push-ups, Sacks, Duqoin, and Jones started to get dressed.

Tony smirked at Remy who turned and began yelling, “Did LtCmdr DiNozzo tell you to get dressed? Well?” All three men braced to attention.

Sacks scowled, but Duqoin jabbed Jones in the ribs with his elbow, something Remy ignored, and yelled, “Sir! No, Sir!”

“Then why the hell are you putting on pants? Get your damn boots on, dress your rack and get out there.” Remy pointed out the door where a group of men in Navy athletic wear of blue shorts and yellow t-shirts were running by. 

All three men replied, “Sir! Yes, Sir!” then got busy making their racks. After that they put on their boots and hurried out the door to begin their laps.

Tony and Remy inspected the other sailors and nodded their approval. A quick check of the beds also got approval. “Very good. You’ll do better tomorrow. PT in five.” This meant that those who had not had time to accomplish the three S’s had five minutes to do whatever they could before they headed out for their first revolution of PT.

Since all the men were dressed in PT uniform, they all scrambled for the door. They got out, lined up, came to Attention and waited. Tony walked the line, checking this and that. He nodded to Remy then ordered, “Move out.” He led the way toward the path around the compound, picked up his wayward charges, and stepped up the pace. He was wondering if Sacks, Duqoin, and Jones were going to make the rest of the rotation. He wasn’t too worried about Great; he was planning on making him one of the two squad leaders, the other he would let Remy pick. 

Remy took eyes behind and barked at anyone who lagged too much. He was considering who to pick for his squad leader and had to admit that, if Great had been in his squad, he’d pick him. But, Tony had that man and he had to pick between Sacks and a guy named Morehouse. Sacks was the better choice as he was a decent leader, but his attitude put him off. Morehouse was a bit hesitant and really needed more experience in leading a squad. And that was the bitter pill; he needed more experience in leadership, which he wasn’t going to get in the field as it was too dangerous. So, if Remy chose him, he’d get the experience he needed, but it would put more pressure on him, Remy, to keep a closer eye on him. He decided that Morehouse was his best choice. He could deal with inexperience, but he had a real problem with Sack’s attitude. 

The last four laps proved that six men needed more conditioning, but Sacks wasn’t one of them; neither was Great. Morehouse ran out of steam on the very last lap but admitted that he’d shown off a bit and run himself down too soon. Remy took a moment to make notes for his squad and Tony’s while Tony chivvied the platoon on to breakfast. 

This was stuffed down as fast as they could manage; a couple of men even managed to get seconds. After a quick pit stop, they headed for the Grinder for more PT.

The Grinder was called that because it usually ground new recruits into the ground. The reservists knew what to expect, but some of them were in bad enough shape that they were still, after three days, having trouble with it. 

As usual the moaning and pissing was epic, but they all made it through in decent time. Tony wasn’t that happy with it, though; they had to make it in the top fifth percentile before he would be satisfied. So they ran the Grinder again.

After they all got through it and were flat on the ground, panting and moaning, Tony jumped their shit. 

“That is the most pitiful attempt at competency I’ve seen in ... I can’t remember when.” He walked up to one man and demanded, “Are you deranged or just stupid? Really. There’s a rope there for a reason. Saving one second on the obstacle only to sprain your ankle, or worse, break your leg, is stupid. Do not let me see you do that again. Got me?”

The man had sprung to attention when Tony addressed him, now, he shouted, “Sir! Yes, Sir!”

Tony snarled, “As you were.” He picked a few others to yell at, mostly for doing something he regarded as stupid― in other words, something that could have put them out of commission.

He glanced at Remy, who pointed at his watch; this meant that they needed to get the men back in time for lunch. Breakfast was a dim memory.

“Okay. That was epically pathetic. You don’t deserve it, but, since I’m a generous kind a’ guy ... head for the galley. Run!” Tony led the way until everyone was spaced out and trotting hard. He worked his way up and down the line yelling at this man to close up and that one to get back in his assigned place. 

They arrived at the mess hall with a bit of time to spare before they could eat. Due to the size of Great Lakes Training Facility, there were several mess halls, called Galleys, and they all had shifts; you couldn’t eat until your shift was due. Tony eyed his watch, muttered, “They’re gettin’ faster,” then watched in disgust as three men had to step out of line to puke. 

Remy offered, “Well, they only puked once.”

Tony eyed Remy with some affection then offered, “Yeah. Ick.”

Again, Tony and Remy turned their charges over to the Galley crew and went to their galley for some lunch.

Remy settled in a chair with a sigh; he was sweaty and dirty. “I hate sitting down to eat in a muck of sweat. But ... he took the menu card out of its holder. “I do love getting a choice, sit down, instead of a buffet. Nice.”

Tony nodded. “There are some perks to being a commissioned officer. This is one.”

They both ordered the brown-gravy-smothered meatloaf, mashed potatoes and cheesy broccoli, coffee, and mixed berry pie. It came so fast that they knew it was pre-made, but it was all very good.

Remy sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m not looking forward to this afternoon at all.”

Tony made a face. “Me neither, but they need hand-to-hand. Most of them are some form of LEO. It makes me tired just thinking about it.”

“Who, higher up, did we offend, and how do we fix it?” Remy finished his coffee. “We better go.”

“We better. If you ever figure out what god of what pantheon we have offended, tell me. I’ll offer ...” he paused for a moment. “Don’t have a first-born child, so ... Meh,” he shrugged and hurried off with Remy on his heels.

.

Tim checked his notes again, then handed the mess to Dean. “Take a look. Second opinion.”

Dean took the file and read through it quickly. “Someone had their hand in the cookie jar, and it looks like it was that Petty Officer Second, the staffing coordinator; his financials don’t check out.... But... why?”

Cosmo took the file and read it. “Okay. He’s also in charge of housing. Bet he was taking kickbacks for good berths ... our vic threatened to bust him. Or I miss my guess.”

Tim nodded. “I think you’re both right. Now, all we have to do is bring him in and sweat him. And I’m not good at that. Wish Gibbs was here. He can just look at someone and have them pissing their pants. I’m too baby-faced.”

Dean scoffed at that. “You can look damn fierce when you need to.”

So Tim sent Cosmo and Ned Dorneget to pick up the PO, who’d had nine long months to sweat it. 

Dean nodded to Cosmo. “Put him in Interrogation Three. I’ll get a tec in there in a sec.”

Cosmo nodded and pushed the Petty Officer toward the hall leading to Interrogation. “Move it.”

“Look, man, I didn’t do anything.” The Petty Officer was already sweating.

Dorneget replied mildly, “Well, then, you don’t have anything to sweat, do you? This way.” He led, Cosmo pushed the Petty Officer into motion, and they disappeared down the hall.

Tim and Dean brought up the rear, Tim on the phone. He hung up and said, “Shit! We need a tec to deal with the recording equipment and camera, but we can’t get one for more than two hours. What now?”

Dean thought about that for a moment then shrugged, “Let him sweat it.”

Tim frowned as he thought that over. “I don’t like to give him time to think. He’s smart and sly; we need to keep him off balance. I’d rather strike while the iron is hot.”

Ned, who’d been unlocking the observation room, said, “I can run the equipment, or you could. But I think it’d better be me, you need to do the interrogation.” He frowned. “I think you should have Dean in the room with you.”

Tim nodded. “You’re right. Thanks.”

Tim took a deep breath and started to open the door but Dean stopped him. “Wait a sec. A little stage dressing here.” He eyed Tim for a moment then nodded. “Okay, take off the jacket and do a few push-ups, get the guns popped.” 

Tim did as asked then grinned. “Dorney, get the equipment prepped, I’ll be back in a sec.” He trotted off leaving the others to glance at each other, shrug, and head for their appointed spots.

When Tim returned he looked more like Rambo than Digimon. He’d worn his shoulder harness, as Gibbs demanded, but he’d added a knife between his shoulder blades and a small flat of leaf-shaped throwers peeked out of his waistband. He’d taken the time to pump up a bit and looked lean, mean, and in charge. Dean grinned.

He opened the door to Room Three and walked in like he owned the place, which, in a way, he did. “Well, happy to see me?” The PO, named Henry Jones, glowered. Tim grinned, slapped a file onto the table, flexed his pecs and sat down. Dean went to lean against the wall beside the mirror and behind Tim. “So not. Oh, well. I’d like to know where you keep coming up with these deposits of cash.” He flipped a few pages. “It’s never a lot, no deposit more than five hundred dollars, but there’s a foxtrot tango of two hundred and three hundred ones. Now ... where’s a guy like you get that kind of money on a regular basis? Enquiring minds an’ all that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, making the PO flinch. “So, Henry, where is it all coming from?”

Henry sneered at Tim but he was starting to sweat. Tim just eyed him then turned to Dean, who looked just as hard and mean as he really was, when he needed to be. “I think Petty Officer Jones needs some persuasion.”

Dean shook his head. “Oh, no. Seriously, no. Do not. Gibbs’ll be pissed and housekeeping ... you know how much they hate bloody carpets.”

Tim nodded. “That’s why this room has tile.” He glanced down at the beige tile.

PO Jones started sweating hard. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? And ... as to can’t? Probably shouldn’t. Might not. But then ... I might.” Tim smirked at Jones and waited.

Jones gulped and looked at his hands. He knew he was caught; he’d gotten a look at the sheets, bank statements, and saw that they knew everything.

Tim pressed his advantage. “I know you were taking kickbacks to give people better quarters, speed up the transfers going across your desk and a few other very illegal activities. I just don’t understand why you killed Seaman Moralles. What’d she do?”

“I did it all because of her. I liked her but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. I heard her talking to that Perkins ... Jenny Perkins in Acquisitions. She said she’d only date a rich man, never some poor squid, no matter their rank. I started skimming a bit here, a bit there, taking the bribes I was offered. Then, when I told her I had money, she flipped out. She’d suspected someone was doing ... what I was doing. She was going to go to our CO and bust me. I just... I didn’t want... she was so pretty and... I grabbed her... she fell against the dumpster and... her head hit something and she was dead. I didn’t mean it.” And with that, he burst into tears. “I’m not... combat. I don’t... I’m just a glorified bookkeeper. Please.”

Tim eyed him for a moment then just got up, saying, “You should have thought of that first. I’ll have a typed confession for you to sign.”

He went into the observation room, leaving Jones to his mumbling and moaning. “We get it all?”

Dorneget nodded. “We did. I sent it to transcription for a type-up, sent a copy of the tapes to Central Storage, a copy to you, and put a copy on my computer. The original will get sent to Legal. Anything else?”

Tim thought for a moment. “Another hard copy for my personal records. Good work.”

A chorus of ‘thank you’s brightened his expression. He grinned, “Wow. My first actual close. Wow.”

Dean leaned on him. “And a nice one it was too.”

Cosmo just grinned at Dorneget and nodded. Dorneget nodded back, finished his filing and said happily, “Great. Now all we have to do is fill out the reports.”

Tim smacked him on the shoulder. “Buzz-kill. You could have let me bask for another second or two.”

Ned grimaced, “Sorry! Sorry! I just... well, it was a good close and I want to have a small drink without having to worry about every ass under the sun wanting their paper work yesterday. See?”

So they all trooped out to their desks to finish the much despised reports.

.

Remy eyed his squad then said, “It’s time to pick the squad leader.” He produced an armband from a pocket. “Morehouse, front and center.” 

Morehouse stepped forward and snapped to attention. “Sir!”

“Congratulations. You’re the squad leader.” Remy wrapped the armband around Morehouse’s arm, saluted and stepped back a step. Morehouse returned the salute and returned to his place. 

Tony then stepped forward and called Great forward to award him the leadership of his squad. “Congratulations, PO Great. I expect good things.” Again they saluted and returned to their places.

Tony snuck a quick peek at Sacks and was, not disappointed exactly, but unhappy to see the expression on his face. He obviously felt that he should be squad leader and his expression said it all. He was now going to be a royal pain in everyone’s ass.

Tony looked the two squads over then announced, “Since we’re all LEO’s except for a couple of you, we’re going to do some hand-to-hand training as well as the required shooting skills review. So suck it up.”

A few of the men were so obviously LEO’s that no one argued with this. There was the usual moaning and bitching, but it wasn’t as bad as it might be. The only one doing a significant amount of complaining was Sacks, who claimed he shouldn’t have to take either the firearms or hand-to-hand retraining. 

Tony cut him off easily. “Well, all righty then, Chief Petty Officer Sacks. If you’re sure, I can always hand you off to another necessary evolution, one we had not expected you to need.” Sacks looked pleased at this. “So, I’ll just put you down for Fire Suppression Protocols, Recognition of Fleet, Survival At Sea, and Shipboard Flood Control. How’s that?”

Sacks grimaced to himself. “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” He did not want to have to sit through a six hour review of silhouettes of all the different ships and planes the Navy had in service, nor spend 12 hours in a tank being drilled on how to get into and out of a Zodiac, survival raft, and PT boat; not to mention how to get into and out of a survival suit, life preserver, and lift harness. And Shipboard Flood Control? Oh, hell no.

Tony smirked at Remy who just grinned back. They made sure that none of their platoon saw the exchange. This was going to be fun. Remy motioned to a medic, who was waiting for orders to go somewhere and do something. “Sir.”

Remy nodded, “Got your kit?” The medic nodded. “Call your CO and tell him we need you at hand-to-hand, unless you’ve got other orders.”

The medic shook his head, “Just waiting for orders, sir. I’ll make the call and be with you at once, sir.”

.

Per General Order whateverthefuckitwas, everyone was dressed in the yellow t-shirts and blue gym shorts for hand-to-hand training, only Tony was in a pissy mood because of Sacks, and Remy was right behind him. The man bitched and whined about everything, claiming that, due to his FBI connections and Naval rank, he shouldn’t have to do whatever it was that he was bitching about now. In this case, hand-to-hand training; it seemed that Tony’s threat to move him to a different group hadn’t stuck. So, instead of pairing up and working on something useful, they were now doomed to yoga.

Tony snarled them all onto mats announcing, “Get the fuck on a mat. I’ll lead. I do, you do. You do not whine, bitch, complain or slack. And, if you’re wondering why we’re doing yoga instead of hand-to-hand, ask Chief Petty Officer Sacks. He seems to think that, because you’re all some sort of LEO or Fed, that you don’t need to be flexible. I think you do. And what I think counts. What you think doesn’t. Master Chief Petty Officer Devereaux will correct your asana as needed.”

Tony also intended to put them in the pool today. He wasn’t about to start hand-to-hand today, no matter what he’d said. He wasn’t going to risk going on the mats with anyone with the mood he was in, and Remy wasn’t much better. So, they’d do yoga and then swim laps; lots and lots of laps.

Everyone was a bit surprised when two more men rang the bell, opting for a ‘free out’ instead of continuing training. A free out was when a reservist was coming up on re-enlistment day and decided not to; they could take whatever time they had on the books instead of getting paid for it. The Navy actually preferred this, as short-timers tended to slack a lot and even broke expensive equipment so they didn’t have to do anything.

Tony snarled, “Grab your fuckin’ gear and get off my damn yard. Go sign your papers and do not be in my barracks when we get back.”

He turned to the rest of the group and pointed to one man. “You. You’re in Squad Two now. Even numbers. Now ... grab a damn mat.”

Tony demonstrated a Long Sun Salutation, going slow enough that he was sure everyone saw what they were supposed to do. He called the English names of the different poses as he went. 

When he was done he announced, “Now. I know you’re all smart enough to remember that. You’re going to follow me through the entire routine twice. If you get a correction, just pay attention. I expect the second run-through to be perfect. Anyone who gets something so wrong that they could hurt themselves will swim extra laps. Go.”

And go they did. Most of the men had thought that yoga was going to be a doodle; they realized different when Tony ran them through the routine the first time. He didn’t take it easy on them, only allowing a second for them to get into position. Remy barked and snarled at the ones who got it wrong while Tony held the men in position. When Remy gave the signal he moved to the next position. Remy made it clear that they had only a few seconds to get into position before they moved on. The second run-through was even harder, as Tony didn’t pause between asanas, and Remy was merciless in his critique. 

At the end Tony barked, “Now you know. Iyengar Yoga is soft, gentle, and slow. This is not Iyengar Yoga, this is Ashtanga Yoga. It is designed to be done at a fast pace and push you to your limits. Little girls do this yoga in hour sets. You are all sweating like pigs after twenty minutes. You’re such a sorry bunch that I’m ashamed to allow you to participate in this exercise of kings. Pool. Everyone will do twenty laps, except for you ... you ... and you. You’ll give me thirty. Go.”

Tony expected most of the men to make a splash as they dove into the pool, when only four did, he decided to take exception to it. He called them out of the pool by yelling, “Oh, my god! You! You! and You!” he pointed to the men who returned to the side of the pool. Everyone had stopped and begun treading water when he yelled. “You splash like a drowning man. Get out.” he turned on the rest of the men. “Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Swim!”

Then he was right in the faces of the splashers. “You’ll dive until you can do it without a splash, then you’ll give me thirty laps. Go.” One man immediately entered the water without a splash. He hadn’t thought it made a difference; he knew better now. The other three splashed like little kids, which, Tony informed them, they were not. 

It took each man several dives before Tony was satisfied, Remy kept an eye on the swimmers, counting laps on those he thought might be inclined to cheat. 

Then, when the last of the men was actually in the water and doing laps, Tony dove in. He was missing his swim something awful, so he decided to do a few laps, he was joined almost at once by Remy. He stopped to tread water for a moment to make sure that someone was watching everyone for signs of distress. He got a signal from a man standing on the safety tower; he nodded and went back to his laps.

As they finished their laps, got out of the pool, and dried off as much as they could, the spotters ordered the men back to quarters to change in to UOD for dinner; they had the rest of the day off.

Sacks grabbed Great the second they hit the barracks. “We need to talk.”

Ramses eyed Sacks then said, “So ... talk.”

“Well. See, I’m accustomed to command so ... if you need any help, back-up or whatever, I’ll be glad to take over.”

Ramses eyed his squad member with a bit of a hairy eyeball. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it.”

Sacks wasn’t sure how he’d offended his friend but he knew he had. “Well, okay.”

Ramses eyed Sacks’ retreating back with mild disfavor; this was his chance to prove that he had what it took to lead a business, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He checked his watch and realized that they had about four hours before lights out, and he needed to do some reading before then. He got the training manual out of his foot locker and settled to read.

Meanwhile, Tony and Remy had decided that they too needed a night off. They proceeded to plant themselves on Gibbs’ front porch to wait for him to get home. 

Gibbs was staying in one ‘square’ while they were living in officer’s quarters, which was really just an apartment building. They were within walking distance of each other, and Tony and Remy were tired of just missing Gibbs.

Gibbs for his part was jogging back from the firing range. He hadn’t been taking his weapons to the range while he was working, as he didn’t have time to do any shooting himself. He glanced at his front porch and smiled. “Hey! Glad to see you two lugnuts. How’s it hangin?”

Remy shrugged, “To the left. How you?”

“Fine. Got a decent group. No problems to speak of.” He opened his door and motioned his friends in. “Beer?”

Tony grinned, “Love one.” He accepted the beer Gibbs offered.

Remy took his and they settled down to fill each other in on what was going on with their squads.

Tony actually started out. “You won’t believe this shit. I got Fuckin’ Ron Sacks in my platoon. And a bunch of other idiot Petty Officers and Chief Petty Officers that are real slackers. All of them have managed to get out of all their required duty days for at least a damn year, most of them two. And I’m supposed to turn them all back into sailors. And Sacks has a mouth on him! I swear, if I wasn’t a nice guy I’d ride him like a horse.”

Gibbs nodded. “I always thought he was a self-satisfied, ego-centric, prejudiced twat-waffle.”

Remy choked on his beer. “A what ... the fuck. Where did you pick that up?”

Gibbs shrugged, “Heard Abby say it.”

Tony offered, “I think she gets some of that shit off the net. But ... Sacks. I’m already having trouble with him. I made someone else squad leader and he gave me the hairy eyeball. He didn’t say much but ... I’m expecting him to file a complaint or something. And he’s pissin’ me off just by existing.”

Gibbs sighed. “He’s got a gigantic case of entitlement. He thinks, because he’s FBI, that he’s entitled to more respect than he’s earned and more ... everything. I like Fornell a lot more. Toby is old school and earned his bones.”

Tony grumbled. “Seriously, I wish we still trained on a three-master. A good keelhauling would work wonders. I’d have him slingin’ his hook in no time.”

Gibbs thought about that for a moment while he finished his beer. “Well, it’s an idea. Not a good one, but still.”

Remy nodded wisely. “You know what they say ... shit in one hand; wish in the other. I do see Sacks as causin’ all kinda chaos and disaster. He’ll piss Great off, and that’ll cause all kinds of trouble.”

Tony nodded. “I can see Morehouse eyeing him too. Don’t think Sacks is gonna get a clue, though; too hard-headed.” He swallowed half his remaining beer in two gulps.

Gibbs agreed, adding, “Sacks is never going to rise above his present level, FBI or Navy, and he knows it. That doesn’t keep him from resenting it and pushing anyway. He’ll never learn and ... so I’ve heard from someone who knows, he’s on really thin ice.”

Tony frowned. “You know I’d never do anything against regs but ... I’m gonna lean on him hard. If he’s stuck, it’s because his attitude has scuttled him. I’ll either cure it or he’ll refuse a legitimate order and be up on charges. I wonder how close he is to re-up date.”

Remy got a blank look on his face as he tried to remember. He brightened and said, “Six months. If he’s bad enough, we might get him to ring the bell and get a chicken dinner. But ... do we want to go that far?”

Tony thought as he finished the rest of his beer. “We do. He’s not an asset to the service and the sooner we quit wasting money on him, the better.”

Gibbs agreed, “There’s some like that. Come in with good intentions, then realize how much work and danger there is and ... want out. We’re better off without them, but a contract is a contract.” He sighed, sipped at his beer, then shrugged. “Best we can do is encourage them to opt out on re-sign.”

Remy just nodded, a sad expression on his face. Then he brightened. “But we do have some good ones. Great and Morehouse are both working out well. Great wants to own his own business, so he’s taking to leadership like a champ. Morehouse needs more experience in leading so he’s a bit shaky, but he’s coming along. They’ve only been leaders for a day, but I can tell.”

Tony nodded. “I agree.” He sighed. “I’m fuckin’ tired. I hate this damn job. My throat is sore, my head aches, and all I really want to do is go somewhere and hide.”

Gibbs agreed. “Me too. I swear they get dumber every year. I actually caught one of those idiots putting on a scope by holding the barrel, muzzle to, against his chest. Loaded.”

“Oh, my god.” Tony just gaped at Gibbs. “Jet! Tell me you’re kidding. Please.”

“Nope. Not kidding. And I am not looking forward to the stink when the CO reads my report. This jackass was his Golden Child. Bless his heart.“

Tony shuddered. “Well, hell. That sucks.”

Remy snickered. “You blessed his heart.”

Gibbs nodded. “I did. I surely did.”

They laughed at that, then started gathering up the bottles and policing the room. Gibbs got a trash bag and emptied all the cans, holding the bag open for Tony to drop his mess in. Remy added his bottles and a chip bag. It didn’t take long to finish.

Gibbs walked them to the door. “Night, Remy, AJ.”

Tony stretched then walked out the door, Remy right behind him. “Night, Jet. We need to get together Sunday and do something.”

“Okay. Sounds good to me. Remy?”

“Me too. Maybe make dinner or something like. Night.”

They headed for their quarters, Gibbs watched for a moment then turned out the porch light and settled on his couch to watch the news before bed.

.

Chapter 4 

 

Ron Sacks was a determined man when he wanted to be. And he was determined to take control of his squad, never mind that Evan was the squad leader, elected by DiNozzo and Devereaux. 

To further this aim, he approached one of the other squad members. “Look. Here’s the way I see it. I’m more experienced. I’m FBI. DiNozzo doesn’t like me and that’s why I’m not squad leader. If we keep with Morehouse, we’ll be in the weeds in no time. If we all petition the CO, he’ll put me in charge and we’ll be high squad. What do you say?”

Carl eyed Sacks for a moment then snarked, “I say you’re a menace. I’m a sheriff’s deputy and I’ve never had anything but grief from a fed. So, I say, sling your hook, dude.” And with that he got up and ambled off. Sacks didn’t know it, but Carl Weathers reported him to Remy without a qualm.

Next Ron approached the worst, to him, member of the squad. “Lancaster. Hey. You know you’re gonna be low man, you’re just not up to standards. But, you help me and I’ll help you. All we have to do is oust Morehouse as squad leader, get me in the position, and I’ll get you a pass. See?”

“Yeah. I see. Count me out. I do not want a pass. I want to pass. Big difference. Fuck off.” Lancaster, who refused to tell his first name, also got up and walked off.

Sacks fumed over his rejection all night, tossing and turning, making his bed squeak until someone shouted at him to lay still before they taped him to his rack. He managed to lay still long enough that he fell asleep. He managed to sleep the rest of the night and wake just in time to hear that damn DiNozzo yelling, ‘’Up! Wake up! Rise and shine!”

He grumbled his way out of the bed and glowered at DiNozzo, thinking, “I’ll get you yet.”

.

The military has all sorts of ways for people to get and disseminate information. One way was ‘oral telegraph’ or scuttlebutt; another was a simple piece of paper slipped under the door. There were also the ‘proper’ channels, which were mostly ignored as being untrustworthy and troublesome. Tony got word that Sacks was conniving to take Morehouse’s place by both methods. He frowned and said, “Okay. Gloves are off. Bare fuckin’ knuckle all the damn way. Sacks so much as breathes funny, and I’m all over him like a bad rash.”

Remy just sighed. This was not going to be pretty.

So this morning Tony turned from a relatively benign person, for a TO, into a screaming fiend. 

‘’Up! Wake up! Rise and shine!” Tony waited until everyone was up, beds made with a screaming accompaniment, and announced. “I hear that someone here doesn’t like the way I run things. Here’s the deal. I don’t give a flying fuck if you like me or not. I’m not here to hold your hand, wipe your brow, or cuddle you like your Mommy. I’m here to make sure that you are ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. So, we’re gonna run, do PT, hand-to-hand, and swim. You’re gonna eat, sleep, and shit Navy. If you don’t like that, tough. Ring the bell. You’re all a bunch of big, bitchy girls. Now. Double PT this morning, then you’re all gonna strip and clean everything that goes bang that I can get my hands on. So move it out.”

And move they did. Most of the platoon were shaping up nicely, but one was still struggling badly. He should have become able to do the laps without getting short of breath by now and Tony was worried. He stopped the panting man, saying, “You okay? You don’t look good at all.” He tipped the man’s face up and realized that his lips were decidedly blue. “Shit. That’s not good.” He glanced around quickly. Medics were all over the place, stationed at convenient stops, just in case. He called one over. “Give him a check. I don’t like the look of him at all.”

The medic took one look at Jacic and ordered, “Get his shirt off. I want a listen to his chest; heart and lungs.” Tony peeled the man out of his shirt and braced him gently. 

While the medic checked Jacic out, Remy trotted back to ask, “What?” Tony gave him a quick run down. “Oh, damn. Okay, I’ll have Great and Morehouse keep the squads moving and just keep an eye on both of them. You go with Jacic?”

“I am. Thanks.” Tony hovered a bit. He hated the thought that he might have contributed to someone being really ill.

The medic shook his head. “I’m calling an ambulance. I do not like the sound of his heart at all. And do not blame yourself. He’s working on congestive heart failure, or I miss my guess. This could just have saved his life.”

The ambulance arrived with little fanfare and no rubber necking; any individual who was inclined to do so was ordered back to their own concerns. Jacic was put on a gurney and stuffed into the ambulance, Tony at his side. 

Sacks took this opportunity to try to sow more discontent. “See. Now we’re down another man. DiNozzo doesn’t give a shit and he’s incompetent enough to get someone hurt. Wonder what that was about, anyway.”

CPO Great barked, “Never you mind that. Keep running. Move it.”

Sacks gave him a dirty look but caught up with the group. Morehouse insisted that his men keep a ‘square’, each man spaced three feet from the man in front of him, behind him and to either side. Great did too and they both barked and snarled to keep the spacing right. Remy helped as needed, and they finished their laps in good time.

.

Tony jumped down from the ambulance first to get out of the way. People swarmed the back, pulling the gurney out of the ambulance and pushing it into the ER. It wasn’t long before Jacic was stripped of his PT uniform, which was cut off and dropped onto the floor; someone kicked it to the side while they stuck things here and there, took blood, applied a pressure cuff, and did other medical things. 

Tony just stood to the side to await a report. It wasn’t long before a doctor approached him. “You this man’s CO?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with him?” Tony peered at his man over the doctor’s shoulder.

“Congestive Heart Failure. He’s out, permanently. We’ll get him stabilized and keep him here for a couple of days. I’d appreciate it if you’d have a word with him, he’s afraid that he’s in trouble. And get his paperwork ready ASAP.” The doctor stepped aside to let Tony into the cubicle.

Tony eased up beside the bed. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Jacic looked awful. He had a cannula under his nose and a bunch of beeping machines hooked up to him. He sighed and started to pull the cannula away but Tony stopped him with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather for a couple of days, but I thought I could just work it off. Now what?”

“Well, the docs all seem to think you’ll be released from service without prejudice. You’ll be out within the week. Congestive heart failure is nothing to mess with. You’ll get your pension and ...” Tony waved a hand. “Not sure what else, but you’re not in trouble. You didn’t ring the bell; you’re sick. I’ll have your paperwork ready ASAP, and we’ll get you home as soon as you’re ready. Rest. Stop worrying. It’s not good for you.” Tony patted Jacic on the shoulder. “Listen to the docs.” He left, leaving a much relieved man to cope with his illness and the fact that he was now honorably discharged from service.   
.

Tony caught a ride to the obstacle course complex and rejoined his men. He knew that some sort of announcement had to be made, the men deserved to know what had happened.

As they had finished one run of the Grinder they all gathered around when Tony shouted at them. He waited until they had all dressed their lines then said, “Okay, here’s the long and short of it. Jacic is out. He’s got congestive heart failure, so he’s getting released without censure. He’ll be okay as long as he follows doctors’ orders and takes his medication. Take ten. As you were.”

All the men broke ranks and settled somewhere to rest before they had to run the Grinder again. They broke up into small groups of three or four men, chattering away like Guinea fowl. Everyone had an opinion and wanted to make it known, loudly.

Tony let them squawk and fuss for a bit then yelled, “Shut up. You sound like a bunch of old women. And that’s insulting the women. Another run through the Grinder ought to cool you off. Move it!”

A few of the men groaned but everyone got up and started through the Grinder. Tony watched carefully, hoping that no one did anything requiring him to rescue them. This run-through they were lucky; no one did anything stupid. His greatest concerns were the slide for life, the boarding nets, and the barbed wire crawl; he still couldn’t believe that someone actually managed to get tangled in a climbing rope. 

He was happily contemplating a run without incident when a Seaman First trotted up, saluted, and handed him a manila envelope. “Orders for some of your men, sir.” 

Tony saluted back, took the envelope and nodded to the seaman. “Thank you, seaman. Dismissed.” The seaman hurried off to whatever else he was supposed to be doing.

Tony opened the envelope and read the cover letter. It wasn’t that unusual to get special orders from the PTB during training; in this case nearly half his platoon was being dismissed home for deployment. He shook his head but checked his list against the papers he was to hand out. It checked, so he waited until all the men were gathered at the end of the Grinder.

“As I call your names, come to the front.” Tony watched as all the men dressed their line. “Adams, Anders, Burke, Jackson, Jones, Kirk, Mathers, Martin, Morehouse, Peterson.” The men all took one step forward and returned to attention. Tony nodded once then said, “You’re all being deployed. I have your orders here; as soon as I hand them out, you’re to return to the barracks, gather your equipment, then get home. You have five days to report to wherever your orders say.” He waited while they absorbed that. “Any questions?”

One man stepped forward. “Yes, sir. What about our other stuff?”

“It’ll be on your bunks waiting for you. Anyone else?” Tony waited for a moment. “All right, gentlemen. Good luck and dismissed.” 

The line broke up and the group hurried to get their gear together and head for home.

Tony glanced at Remy, who didn’t look that happy about their platoon being reduced to a squad. But, orders were orders, and they’d deal with what they had. As Gran’mere said, “Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one filled up first.” 

“All right. We’re now reduced to a squad ... that does not mean anyone gets out of anything. We have a squad leader: CPO Great. All this means is ... you all get more personal attention.” He eyed the group for a moment, then said, “Return to quarters until chow ... say your good-byes.”

Scott Sergeant, Caspar Amadei, Kenneth Pavesi, Richard Ash, Leon Vinter, Ron Sacks, Ramses Great, Plato Winter, Willard Smith, and Dick Jameson were only too glad to head for barracks to say good-bye to the other men. 

Tony and Remy went to the Officer’s Club for lunch, just to change things up and avoid running into higher-up officers that they didn’t want to speak with. They were both a bit pissed that half their men had been deployed halfway through training. It didn’t make that much difference, but it was annoying.

Tony poked at his b-b-q sandwich for a moment. “Okay. We put off hand-to-hand because no one was shaping up. But most of the men who were still lacking have been deployed... and how stupid is that? But what is, is.”

Remy waved a fry as he replied, “Don’t sweat the small stuff. We can’t do anything about that, so we deal with what we can. We’ll institute hand-to-hand starting Monday. It’s Thursday, so we stay with the routine tomorrow and Saturday. Sunday is still a day of rest, and we sit down then and redo our plans. Until then, just keep going.” He munched down his fry with a satisfied expression.

“Okay. Good. Pass that cup of slaw, will you?” Tony took the slaw and settled in to finish his meal, well content with their plans.

.

Gibbs listened to the scuttlebutt floating around the NCO’s Club with a frown; half his new shooters were headed for deployment half-trained. He wasn’t happy about that but, evidently his idea of half-trained was the Navy’s idea of field ready. He wasn’t about to argue ―it wouldn’t do much good― but he was going to file a formal protest up the line somewhere.

He poked at his food, a very nice pork chop with dressing and green beans, and missed his Pod with a stomach-souring vengeance. He missed everyone a great deal more than he’d expected. His temporary housing was nice, but he missed the odd sounds that living with Remy, Dean, and Cosmo generated. That odd clicking sound that Remy made when he was thinking. The tuneless humming of Dean as he read something, and that scuffing sound that Cosmo made as he walked so he wouldn’t sneak up on someone accidentally. And the whoosh of the burner on the furnace when it came on. There were so many little things that woke him up in the middle of the night because they weren’t there. And he missed his boat.

He finished his chop and beer. When the server came around, he ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie. As he finished he managed to overhear another piece of scuttlebutt. A PO named Sacks was trying to suborn his squad. Gibbs rubbed his face; he’d have to tell Tony about that, even though it seemed that the person who conveyed the tidbit of news said that the CO was more pissed over the complaining than the complaints. Saying that DiNozzo was prejudiced was like saying snow was hot.

He frowned; he was pretty sure he knew who the gossipers were referring to and was not best pleased. He wasn’t that fond of Ron Sacks; the man was a nuisance at best, a menace at worst. If he was undermining Tony’s authority, there was going to be trouble. He decided to take a wait-and-see attitude, but tolerate no shit. He wondered if Tony and Remy might be up for a visit, then decided that, as it was on his way home, he might as well drop in that evening.

.

Tim McGee was not a happy camper. Abby was not happy either. They’d been working cold cases to get Cosmo, Dean, and Ned up to speed, but NCIS was suddenly catching cases left and right. Ducky and Jimmy were swamped and struggling, and the other teams were up to their necks in smuggling and one thing and another. The MCRT was needed and not ready. 

Vance was pissed because SecNav was on his back. And he was passing the grief down. So Tim had to take an inadequately trained team into the field. This, he knew, was not going to turn out well. 

He tried to call either Gibbs or DiNozzo, but both their NCIS phones rolled over to an unavailable until date message. He wondered if he could recall either man but was pretty sure it wasn’t going to work. It didn’t.

Tim pulled his team in and called a meeting in Abby’s lab. 

Abby got them all situated around her office; no one was allowed to lean on her babies. “Okay, what’s up?”

Tim filled her in then finished, “No insult intended, but I’m not competent to do an investigation with three probies. Just ... no. Not happening.”

Cosmo shrugged fatalistically. “But it is, and no offense taken.”

Dean frowned then asked, “Do you think Vance actually knows who’s on this team right now?”

“Has to ... he’s the director.” Tim glowered at Abby.

“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. I didn’t do anything.” Abby frowned right back.

Tim realized what he was doing and said, “Sorry, Abby, I was thinking. I don’t like this. What is Vance up to?”

.

Tobias Fornell was also very unhappy. He had an odd trail to follow, and all it did was lead to dead ends and frustration. He missed Ron Sacks. The man was a miserable person in a lot of ways, petty and jealous. But he was a good investigator and a bulldog when he got his teeth into something. 

He started on another round of phone calls and face-to-face meetings, trying to pin down what was actually going on. They’d had three murders and a missing person from the same company, and the managers were frantic. Some very sensitive information was missing, and everyone was screaming for the FBI to find the USB stick and the murderer. They assumed that it was the missing person, but things didn’t add up. He grumbled as he waited for someone to answer his calls.

.

Tony eyed his men. It was after lunch and time to get back to work. “Okay. We’re down to ten men, one squad. That means that you’re all in for a fair share of our attention. Great, move ‘em out.”

The afternoon would be filled with repetitions of PT and more running. A bit of swimming would round out the day. Tony was not looking forward to it

Sacks wasn’t looking forward to it either. He was frustrated and bored. What he’d been thinking to get himself into this mess was more than he could remember. 

Tony watched as Sacks did pull-ups in a half-hearted manner. He marched over and roared, “Sacks! What the hell? Put a little effort into it.” He eyed Sacks as he rolled his eyes. “And do not roll your eyes at me. Start again.” Sacks scowled then began again. “And count out loud.”

Sacks started counting his reps out loud, adding ‘sir’ after each number. Tony stood right in front of him and eyeballed him like he was going to disappear if he didn’t. Remy managed the rest of the diminished group with the help of Squad Leader Great.

Tony ambled around behind Sacks, leaned over, and hissed in his ear. “I hear via scuttlebutt that you’re trying to undermine my authority. I’d stop that right now. I do not care that your sensitive, special little snow-flake feelings are hurt. I don’t care that you think you ought to be squad leader. We all live with disappointments. Get over it. Knuckle down and do your duty. It’ll all be over in seven more days.”

Sacks grunted. “Eight.”

“We get Sunday off for personal. So seven.”

Tony moved away a bit and watched as Sacks finished his pull-ups. 

Ron Sacks, for his part, was just pissed that DiNozzo had figured out what he was up to. He snorted then snarled, as he moved to do sit-ups, “Rich, spoiled-rotten jerk.”

Tony thought about that for a moment then replied, “Daddy’s rich. I lived in boarding schools and military academies from the time my Mom died until I went to college. Mom died when I was eight. I earned my way through on sport scholarships because Daddy forgot I even existed after I refused to go to Harvard as a legacy.” He breathed heavily for a moment then snarled, “I always try to be fair, but you’re gettin on my last nerve. So get over yourself or you’ll find out how big an asshole I can be ... without breaking a single reg. And you just doubled your sets, so get moving.”

Sacks groaned. He was well aware that he was treading on really thin ice. He had actually violated several regs by trying to undermine Tony’s authority with the platoon. And he also knew that it was insubordination to grumble at Tony behind his back, poking the bear just to see if he would lose his temper. He just couldn’t seem to help himself. He started in on the second round of PT knowing he had brought this on himself. He wondered if Tony had told him the truth and resolved to find out.   
.

Gibbs eyed his roster for the next week and sighed. As Abby would say; This was going to be so much fun…not. He was expected to run AJ’s group through the refresher weapons course. And oversee the h-2-h training. It wouldn’t be that bad, as the group was so small, but more than fifteen men, and he’d need another set of eyes, as Remy and AJ were expected to provide opponents for the better members of their group. In other words, they got to kick the shit out of the best fighters. Gibbs chuckled to himself. He might invite Fornell up just to see that.

He made some notes, then settled back to watch TV for the evening; he wasn’t best pleased when his phone rang at 1900.

“Gibbs.”

“Jet. It’s Tobias.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes to himself. “Toby. What’s up? What the heck are you calling me at this time of night for?”

“Got a triad. Murder, disappearance, and missing intel. Fucking dead end after dead end. I need Ron.”

Gibbs frowned. “Sorry. Can’t have him. If you need some help, get hold of Tim. He’s Team Lead until I get back. And ... sit down. His team consists of Dean, Cos, and Ned Dorneget.”

Tobias choked on his own spit. Gibbs waited patiently until he’d cleared his throat and croaked, “Wa?” 

“Vance wants to promote cohesiveness within the group. In other words, he’s sucking up to HR, Captain Rafe McKinley, and who knows who else. McKinley likes having Dean, Cos, and Remy hang around at NCIS; keeps ‘em out of trouble, and they’re getting training as investigators. New skill set. But they’re not ready to take on an investigation on their own, especially with Tim as lead. Tim’s smart as hell, but still a bit grassy.”

“Yeah. And I’m stuck with two men instead of three. Allan and John are good, but we’re running around in circles. Every fuckin’ clue we run down, leads to another or a dead end. With a corpse at the center of it two times. I’m about at my wits’ end. And the Director is making rumbling sounds about reassigning the case. It’s mine, damnit!”

Gibbs chuckled a bit at that. “I know. No one takes a case from either of us. So ... what do you want to do?”

“Don’t know what I can get away with. Best case scenario ... you’re all back in DC tomorrow. Worst case? I get my case taken away from me.” Tobias sighed. “Hate that idea.”

Gibbs thought for a bit. “Okay. Here’s the way I see it. Just bring all your case files and whatever else you’ve got and we’ll brainstorm it here. If you could get Tim and the rest here, that’d be good. Sacks is here and AJ and Remy. And ... while I’m at it. Your boy is being a real fuckin’ pain in the ass. If he winds AJ up too much, he’s gonna get put on report, and you know how that’s going to look. Have a damn word with ‘im, will you?”

“Sure. I don’t know what kind of bug he’s got up his butt about DiNozzo, but he’s been after him from day one. Sniping at him, badmouthing him and ... murder? I seriously ripped him a new one about that.” Tobias eyed his watch. “It’s gettin’ late. I’ll see what I can do about gettin’ over to see you in person. I’ll bring everything with me ... or at least digital copies. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Let me know when you’re gonna show. Bye.” And with that he hung up. “Damn it. Fornell, what the hell have you gotten your stupid self into now?” He went to bed, but didn’t sleep much. Instead he tossed and turned, trying to figure out how to get everything together.

,

Tony and Remy watched their squad with interest. They were starting h-2-h now as everyone seemed to be getting bored, and Gibbs wanted to wait on anything weapon-related until next week. So, other than the mandatory cleaning of the dummy weapons, there was nothing to do on that front until next week. 

Tony divided the group into pairs the easy way, line the men up and have the first in line shout ‘one!’ then the next, ‘two!’ and down the line alternating one and two. Then have all the twos take two steps forward about face then one sideways step. “The man you are now facing is your opponent. Get to the sides, and no changing partners behind my back ... which will be in Master Chief Petty Officer Devereaux’ face.”

They wound up paired off with Ron facing Ramses, Scott Sergeant, a sheriff’s deputy from Oklahoma facing Caspar Amadei, a Sheriff’s deputy from North Dakota; Kenneth Pavesi, a Highway patrolman from Colorado facing Richard Ash, a cop from Chicago; Leon Vinter, a cop from St Louis facing Plato Winter, a bus driver also from St Louis; and Willard Smith, a taxi driver from NYC facing Dick Jameson, manager of a McDonalds in Lima, Ohio.

It was quickly obvious that just because you were in law enforcement didn’t mean you could actually fight. Sergeant beat Amadei because he was bigger, Ash beat Pavesi because he was just better, Winter beat Vinter by a hair, and Smith and Jameson wound up in a tie as Smith got a choke hold on Jameson but couldn’t actually get him down. Great put Sacks in a bind, belly down, and kept him there until Remy called it because Sacks wouldn’t tap out.

Remy eyed Sacks for a moment then offered, “In real life, sometime it bedda to tap and lie. Oui?”

Sacks got an odd look on his face then nodded. “Yeah.”

Tony blew his whistle and yelled, “Well, that was mostly bad. You’re all fair but you could be much better. I’m not going to lose one of you because some drugged-out perp sticks a knife in you. I’d be very pissed.”

Remy chivvied the group back into line. He started critiquing their fights, picking out every error. Ron was not that happy about it and mumbled, “Yeah, pick nits. Not like this is going to make or break us.”

Tony overheard and snarled, “Mats! Now!”

Remy just covered his eyes with one hand, elbow braced on his other arm and moaned, “Oh, man. Mat time with AJ. Not good.” He dropped his arms, eyed the rest of the men, and snarled. “Watch! Learn!”

When they hit the middle of the mats, Tony pulled off his blouse and tossed it aside, leaving him in t-shirt, pants and boots. 

Tony just stared at Sacks for a moment then said, “Okay, you think you’re such hot shit? Show me. I’m gonna beat you like a drum.”

Ron eyed Tony back then said, “Bring it.”

Tony stepped back and gave Sacks room to run, which he took. They circled for a bit, then Sacks tried a simple take-down that worked on most perps. It didn’t work on Tony, only making him snort as he turned his shoulder to roll Sacks’ grab for it. Tony jabbed Sacks in the gut then put him in a head lock. Sacks struggled for a moment then tried to clap out. Tony hissed in his ear, “No. You’re so damn good, get out, ‘cause I’m not lettin’ go.”

Sacks squirmed and kicked a bit, then did the only thing he could think of: he punched Tony in the groin. Unfortunately, Tony was one of those men whose delicate bits weren’t that delicate. And wearing the mandatory athletic cup kept the blow from doing any damage. All that it did was piss him off.

“Asshole.” Tony cranked down on Sacks’ neck, choking him nearly out. After he was sure Sacks had the message, he turned loose of his opponent and stepped back, dropping him to one knee. Tony waited to see if Sacks had learned a lesson. It seemed that he had not.

Instead of backing up and making the peace sign ―not the hippy one, the martial arts one― Sacks decided to bring it on again. This was not the wisest move, as Tony was more than just pissed now. But Sacks had never seen Tony in any mode other than his idiot-frat-boy persona, so he made a big mistake. He decided to try to wrestle Tony. He managed to get a grip on Tony’s t-shirt.

Tony recognized the pull for what it was: an attempt to put him off balance and close with him. He pulled away, letting Sacks have his shirt. He simply ducked his head and let Sacks pull the shirt over it and down his arms. Sacks wound up with a shirt dangling from his hand and Tony’s arm around his neck in a choke hold, again. 

Tony held him with one arm around his neck and the other hand on the top of his head. “Sixty-six pounds of pressure. Won’t break a bone, despite what the movies say. But it will rupture a disk and leave your tango in a world of hurt. Then you stab them.” He poked Sacks in the kidney a couple of times. “Okay, Sacks, back in line.” He let Sacks go, watched him return to the line then went to get his t-shirt, which Sacks had dropped on the mat.

Several gasps let him know that he’d forgotten one small thing; while his scars were nowhere near as bad as they used to be, they were still visible, especially when he had a tan. He didn’t bother to turn around, he just picked up his shirt and put it on; Remy handed him his blouse which he also donned. “And that’s the result of being captured by religious fanatics. I don’t recommend the experience.” 

He did notice that Sacks looked decidedly green.

No one said anything more. Tony set them to work on different holds, throws, and counters while he and Remy walked around offering advice and criticism. 

Ramses Great was getting really tired of Ron Sacks. He knew the jerk was FBI. He knew that Ron thought he was better than anyone else. He also knew that there was going to be trouble if Ron didn’t shut up. The other men were very aware that the whole squad might wind up on report if he kept up his attempts to undermine the CO’s authority. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.

CPO Ash sidled up to Squad Leader Great, leaned against the same tree he was leaning on and said, “If you don’t do something about Sacks, we will. He’s gonna get us all put on report and in all sorts of trouble. I do not need a black mark on my record because Mr-I’m-FBI gets his nuts in a wringer.”

Squad Leader Great sighed. “Okay. I know he’s trouble. I’ll report him to TO DiNozzo end of watch. I hate to ... it looks bad on all of us. But it’s gonna look worse if we don’t. Damn.”

“Yeah.” Ash walked off to tell the others that Great was going to bust Sacks to the TO at end of watch. They all heaved silent sighs of relief.

Tony called, “Chow. Eat, rest, be ready for more PT.” 

Everyone hurried back to barracks to try to clean up a bit before chow. Tony and Remy left them to it. They wanted to clean up themselves.

Tony was very displeased to see Ramses Great hovering at his door. He saluted then said, “CPO Great? To what do I owe this ... pleasure?”

Ramses saluted then sighed. “Permission to speak, sir?”

Tony nodded. “Spit it out before it chokes you.”

“You gotta do something about Sacks. I know you’ve got some sort of history and I don’t care. He’s trying to sow discontent and insubordination amongst the men. I don’t like it. I’ve told him to cut it out but he just smirks at me like I’m some sort of joke and keeps right on.” He pulled a report out of a pocket and unfolded it. He gave it to Tony then said, “It’s all there. And countersigned by everyone on the squad. We’d like him ... gone. Or at least under ...” he stopped, rubbed the back of his head and said, “Don’t know what. Just make him stop.”

Tony read the report then nodded. “I’ll speak to him. Thank you. Dismissed.” He tucked the papers under his arm, saluted, then waited while Great took off for the galley to try to get something decent to eat before it was all gone.

Tony read the report carefully and realized that his attempt to be more than fair to Sacks, as he hated the man with a purple passion, had backfired on him. He now had a choice to make: kick the report up a level, or deal. He decided that wait-and-see wasn’t going to cut it; he was going to have to speak to Sacks. If that didn’t work, he was going to write a report of his own and send the whole mess up the line; CoC wasn’t always a bitch. 

After a hurried lunch, Remy took charge of the squad, sending them to an obstacle course they hadn’t run yet. Tony, on the other hand, called Sacks over. “Sacks, we’re gonna have to talk.”

Sacks eyed him then sneered, “Someone having trouble keeping his command in order?”

“No, I’m havin’ a fuckin’ hard time not smackin’ the shit out of you. You’re a hair’s breadth from gettin’ put on report by Great. If you don’t stop messin’ around, tryin’ to get the men to mutiny, you’re gonna wind up in the brig. Think, man. I’m your training officer whether you like it or not. Just suck it up and deal. Make the most of this. I’m not gonna lighten up on you, or hammer you ... unless you keep this shit up. If I hear a breath of a rumor of a possibility that you’re up to the same tricks, I’m gonna come down on you like a ton of bricks. You got me?”

Sacks eyed him then shrugged. “Okay, okay. Question? Where the hell did you get that thousand-yard, murder-you-in-your-sleep gaze ... and those scars?”

Tony looked at him for a moment, then poked hard him in the chest with a finger. “I tell you ... you straighten up and fly right. You give no shit to anyone. Keep your head down, work hard, and I do not see you. Got me?”

“Yeah.” Sacks prepared himself for some sob story.

Tony just dragged him to a picnic table and pointed, “Sit.” Sacks sat and Tony started talking. After he was done, Sacks had to puke. “Sissy.”

“Shut up.” Sacks wiped his mouth on a tissue, tossed it in the trash then manned up. “Sorry. I... that’s just... shit. I’ll not only back off but apologize in front of the squad.”

Tony shook his head. “Not necessary. The apology, I mean. the rest... you better back off or I’ll ride you like Adam’s Ass.”

Sacks swallowed a bit thickly then nodded. “You got it... Sir.”

“Go eat.” Tony trotted off to find something for himself. 

He wound up eating at home. The galley was too noisy, and he’d seen his immediate superior, so he’d decided to skip the galley altogether and just fix himself something. 

Remy showed up as he was putting out fixin’s, so he made two sandwiches and added a handful of chips.

“Wonder why the English call ‘em crisps?” Tony eyed the chip in his hand for a moment then flinched slightly as Gibbs’ hand popped over his shoulder, snatched the chip then disappeared.

Gibbs crunched the chip as he demanded. “Make me one.”

Tony just handed his over. “Here, have this one.”

“Thanks.” Gibbs took a big bite, chewed then swallowed. “Good.”

Tony slapped the last of the cold cuts between the halves of a bun, added cheese and lettuce, smeared on mustard, then took a bite. “Thanks.”

Gibbs swallowed his second bite then remarked, “Heard about your shirt. Don’t think that’s hurt you a bit.”

Tony nodded. “Didn’t think so either. Sacks and I had a bit of a talk.”

Gibbs made an enquiring noise; Remy flat out asked, “So ... how’d that work out?”

Tony shrugged, “He puked.”

Gibbs grumbled, “Nice,” in a disgusted tone.

“Yeah. I think I finally got through to him. He’s still on the razor’s edge of gettin’ a chicken dinner. I’m not puttin’ up with him.”

Gibbs decided to drop the shoe before they got too comfortable. “We’re up. Fornell is up to his eyeballs in a mess. He’s bringing all his files here for us to go over. We’ve got tomorrow and Sunday to break this case.”

Tony rolled his eyes then snarked, “And he can’t deal by himself? Big ass FBI agent that he is.”

“Nope.” Gibbs popped the P. “He’s down his best agent.”

Remy groaned, then snarked, “An’ what does that say about his team?”

Gibbs swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. “Not much.”

Tony had a snicker fit which didn’t end until Gibbs and Remy were nearly done cleaning the galley kitchen. 

Gibbs rubbed his face. “So ... you think Sacks has got his head out of his ass or is there going to be more trouble?”

Remy thought about that while Tony maintained a stoic face. Remy finally offered, “Might be that a threat of gettin’ written up did the trick ... might not.”

“We’ll see. So how are we supposed to work this?” Tony wasn’t looking forward to trying to work a case between dealing with the ten remaining reservists. He actually thought that merging his squad with another group was a better idea. The men were getting the training they needed, but it was a bit of a waste of resources. He wondered vaguely if he ought to include all the LEO’s in this case but realized that they didn’t have the clearance to deal with it. Except for Sacks, and he knew that that man was going to be all up in his face the second Fornell showed.

Gibbs rubbed his face. “This is such a waste of your talents ... you’re a good TO but ... you’re a better investigator. Wonder if the CO would sign off on us ... never mind. We’ll deal.”

Tony grumbled. “I’d love to ditch this whole TO thing, but duty calls and I must answer.”

Gibbs grimaced, “You are not going to start quoting Admirals, are you?”

Remy swatted Tony on the shoulder. “He do an’ I smack ‘im again. Not puttin’ up wit’ dat, me.”

Tony swatted Remy back. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” 

Remy passed Tony a cup of coffee and settled in to drink his own while Tony and Gibbs went over next week’s exercises.

.

The Base CO wasn’t very happy, but he was a good sailor and followed orders. In this case, the orders were that he was to reassign LtCmdr DiNozzo’s squad and give him every possible resource he needed. It seemed that someone was committing espionage, murder, and only NCIS knew what else, and his expertise was needed to catch the people responsible. And some CPO named Sacks and a MCPO named Devereaux were also needed. He just shrugged and told his aide to cut the orders. 

He checked to see where they were quartered and decided that the housing was adequate. Just as he was turning to other concerns, he got a call from the Office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps. They politely requested that Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs be assigned to LtCmdr DiNozzo’s command until further notice. He just grumbled a bit and cut orders. He had no idea why DiNozzo might need a Master Guns but, in for a penny, in for a pound.

The aide just filled in the proper forms, printed out a copy, and handed them off to someone to deliver. He grumbled a bit as he now had to figure out where the squad was going. Since several squads had been deployed in toto, he had several platoons to choose from.

.

 

Chapter 5

 

Tobias Fornell hated Chicago. He hated the wild drivers, the messed-up streets, the ... everything. He grumbled, “Even the pizza doesn’t make up for this shit,” then he swore as he dodged a taxi. “Fucker drives worse than Ziva David ... and that’s sayin’ something.”

It took him nearly two hours to get to Great Lakes, and another twenty minutes to clear through the gates, which put it near 1100. He got directions to Gibbs’ quarters from the Shore Patrol who’d cleared him and drove through. It wasn’t long before he was parking in front of Gibbs’ Quonset-hut house. He eyed it for a moment, then grumbled, “And I bet it leaks when it rains.” He gathered up his files, USB stick, and tablet, stuffed them back into his briefcase, dragged his suitcase out of the trunk of the tiny car that was all he could get, then went up to knock on the door.

Gibbs opened it, eyed the briefcase and grunted. He stepped back then turned and ambled into the kitchen. Tobias sighed. One of these days Gibbs might learn some manners… maybe. Then he thought, “Nah, never.” He kicked his suitcase next to the couch, dumped his case on the coffee table, and started taking things out of it.

Tobias followed Gibbs into the kitchen, where he was putting together a huge cold-cut platter; the counter was covered with bowls of lettuce, pickles, mayo, ketchup, and several jars of different mustards. 

“What the hell? Gibbs, we having a football team over?”

Gibbs chuckled then said, “No. You ever seen the Pod eat? Locusts leave more.”

Tobias looked blank until he figured out what, or who, the Pod was. “We having all of them over?”

“Yeah. Dean and Cosmo are learning the ropes; Remy’s fairly good already. Addin’ to their skill set.” Gibbs frowned, wondering where Dean, Cosmo, and Tim were.

“The others are coming in on a military transport. I refused the pleasure. I’ll bet anything they’re re-routed and on their way to Bum-fuck East Sticksville.” Tobias made a face; he hated military transport with a hot passion.

Gibbs nodded toward the door. “Looks like you lost that bet. Make yourself useful and put this on the bar.” He handed over a bowl of potato salad and another of slaw. 

Dean, Cosmo, and Tim thundered in the door. Dean called, “We in the right place. An’ what the hell’s a damn Gunny doin’ here at Great Lakes anyway?”

Gibbs chuckled softly. “And the Thundering Herd arrives.” He eyed the milling group as they greeted each other with back slaps and insults… and a few manly hugs. “All right! Break it up! Bunch a’ girls. Come eat.”

Fornell got on his phone and obviously waited for whomever he was calling to answer; finally he barked, “Sacks! Where the hell are you? I gave you the address; get your butt here, now.”

He listened for a moment then replied, “I’ll send someone to get you then.” Gibbs raised an eyebrow in inquiry so he said, “Dumbass is lost.”

Gibbs pointed to Dean and said, “Cobra, go find the dipshit.”

Dean shrugged, wiped his hands on a napkin and said, “Well, where the hell is he?”

Fornell just handed him the phone, “Ask him yourself.”

It didn’t take Dean long to find out that Sacks evidently didn’t know East from West and was at the right number but the wrong end of the street. He barked, “Just fuckin’ stay there, I’ll come find your stupid ass.” He hung up the phone and tossed it to Tobias. “I’ll be back in ten.” He trotted out the door, jumped the steps, and disappeared down the street.

Ron Sacks was standing in front of a small duplex looking tired and worried. He had gotten his orders and immediately packed his things. He knew he was going to be moved to different housing— he couldn’t stay in a barracks by himself— so he had his duffel at his feet. He blinked at the black-clad SEAL that trotted up. “Sir?”

“Cale, Dean; Chief Warrant Officer. Fornell sent me to find you. Come on.” Dean didn’t bother to check to see if Sacks was following him, nor did he offer to carry anything. This left Sacks carrying his duffel and briefcase while jogging to keep up with Dean, who stretched his legs into a slow trot.

They were back at Gibbs’ Temp Quarters in fifteen minutes. As they entered, Tobias yelled, “You said ten! You’re late!”

Dean shrugged, took the sandwich out of his hand and said, “Can’t help it that your lady friend is slow.” He took a bite of the sandwich, grimaced, and dropped it on a plate. As he disassembled it to take out the tomatoes, he added, “Not too sure he’s gonna be much use for awhile.”

Meanwhile, Sacks was leaning against the door frame, panting like a bellows.

Tony eyed him then said, “And you think you’re in shape to chase down perps? Seriously?” 

Remy handed him a folder and said, “Quit pickin’ on him and read this.”

Fornell made another sandwich while he explained what was going on to Sacks. He pointed, “Make a sandwich and read that.”

Sacks eyed the pile of folders as he assembled a satisfactory sandwich. “Man, what kind of mess is this?” He settled with his food and a drink.

The rest of the day was spent in reading folders, debating facts, having Tim run financials and searches and swearing. 

Gibbs finally eyed his watch, announced, “It’s 1900. We’re not getting anywhere and I’m hungry.”

Tony frowned. “Pasta? or Pizza?”

Fornell frowned. “Not in the mood for pizza. What kind a’ pasta?”

Tony rummaged in the fridge and cabinets for a moment then said, “A la dump.”

“What?”

“Check the fridge and cabinets, dump it all in a pan and add pasta. So… mushrooms, some bacon, couple of cans of stewed tomatoes and frozen peas. Boss, you didn’t use these for a cold pack, did you?” Gibbs said that he hadn’t so the bag of peas got added to the pile. “There’s some ...” Tony eyed the something in a container then said, “Furry, and I think it winked at me.” He tossed the container to Remy, ordering, “Kill that, will you?” Remy took it out, container and all; the clang of the GI garbage can told its own tale. “Cherry tomatoes. Cream. Lot’s of Parm. And ... Jet, what the fuck are you doing with panchetta?”

“No idea what that even is.” Gibbs took off his glasses to eye the pile. “Ditch those tomatoes, they’re fuckin’ nasty. Really tasteless and salty.”

Tony put the cans back in the cabinet. “Okay. So, Pasta a la Putanesca.” He gave an exclamation of delight as he found some spinach in the crisper. “Spinach! Jet?”

“No idea on that either.” 

Tony scribbled a list and gave it to Cosmo. “Go to the PX and get this.”

“On it.”

Sacks announced, in a smugly satisfied tone, “You’re not supposed to have subordinates run errands for you.”

Tony started to say something but Fornell beat him to it. “There’s rules like that for a reason and this is not it. Sit the fuck down and shut your cake hole. I’m hungry.”

Dean just said, “Orders that are mutually beneficial, like requests to procure food, clothing, or other sundries or necessities for a platoon or squad are exempt.” He eyed Sacks for a moment then added, “Jerk.”

Cosmo eyed him, said, “Do not be a dumbass,” then left to get the groceries. 

Tony started his sauce, then set to cutting tomatoes in half. Sacks bit his lip, got a thump from Tobias, then offered, “I could show you how to do that a lot quicker.”

Tony nodded. “The old stick ‘em between two saucers thing? Sorry, good idea but no saucers, just cups.”

Sacks frowned. “And why cups but no saucers?”

Tony shrugged, “No idea. Who knows why the military does half the things it does?”

Sacks got up and offered to chop or slice or something. Tony eyed him for a moment then handed over the mushrooms. “Slice, please.”

“Should I wash them first?” Sacks eyed the two pint containers of mushrooms.

“No. Wipe the dirt off with a damp paper towel. If you get them really wet, like washing them, they’ll just steam and water out in the sauce. Make the slices fairly thick.” Tony returned to blanching the spinach.

Sacks frowned at Tobias, but did as he was asked. He carefully wiped the dirt off the stems of the mushrooms, then sliced them into thick slices. “You’re awfully competent in the kitchen for a rich kid.”

Tony eyed him but didn’t say much. Gibbs looked at Fornell, said, “Toby. Your turn.”

Fornell sighed, “Sorry, DiNozzo.” He grabbed Sacks and dragged him out the door. It didn’t take him long to disabuse Sacks of the last of his illusions about Tony. They returned, both of them looking slightly ill. Sacks returned to his work, and Tobias picked up the next file in his queue and settled to work his way through that one.

Tony didn’t say anything to Sacks when he came back, he just kept on cooking. He eyed the pot, wondering if there would be enough. He had two mouths extra to feed. The Pod ate enough for ten, plus Fornell and Sacks. He shook his head. “Just hope there’s going to be enough.”

Just then, Cosmo stuck his head in the door and yelled, “Bucket brigade. Come on.”

Everyone except Tony trotted out to form a line to hand the groceries in. Cosmo started pulling bags out of the back of the SUV they’d rented in Chicago. He found that, if everyone took two bags, they’d only have to make one trip each. He smugly strolled in empty handed and flopped down on the couch.

Dean flopped down next to him, elbowed him in the ribs and said, “Jerk.”

“Bitch. I shopped.” Cosmo pushed Dean off the couch. He landed on the floor with a yelp and a thump.

Gibbs didn’t even look up from the file he’d returned to. “Corners.”

Dean eyed Gibbs for a moment then said, “Oh, no. No corners.”

“Then settle down.” He tossed each of them a file. “See what you can find out about similarities in habits, mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing.”

Sacks blinked at that and said, “Corners?”

Gibbs heard him and explained, “If they don’t settle down when I tell ‘em, they have to stand in a corner for fifteen minutes. House rules.”

Sacks blinked, “Does that include you?”

“No, my house. And...” he eyed the two men. “I’m not a rowdy nutjob.”

Dean cheerfully flipped him a bird.

Sacks finished slicing the mushrooms then said, “I’ll set the table.” He rummaged the cupboards and found― nothing. “What the hell are we supposed to eat off?”

Gibbs looked up from the file he was rereading. “I don’t know. Go down to the mess and get something. I’ll call.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called someone who told him that they could have enough things to serve the group and to bring it back when they were done with it.

Remy and Sacks left with Sacks well aware that, if he got in anyone’s face for any reason, Fornell was going to eat him a new one.

Remy nodded. “You learnin’. See ... you got a’ idea in yo head an’ it stuck. Ya act on it, instead a’ thinkin’ things through.” He held up a hand when Sacks started to object. “I know ... they’ was evidence ... but the ting’ is ... you didn’t ‘low for personality or reputation. Learn a lot from dat. An’ you like a dog wit’ a rag. You get an idea an’ no logic or reasoning will move it.”

Sacks sighed. “Okay. I was wrong. But I’m more right than I am wrong.”

“But when you wrong and someone prove it ... you still doan listen. Dat make you stupid.” Remy frowned at Sacks then just turned and walked on. 

Sacks hurried after him, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Fornell had been telling him for years that he was wrong-headed, but he knew what he knew. Only ... it seemed that he didn’t.

Remy eyed him as he strode along beside him. “Yo’ got smoke comin’ out yo’ ears. Talk.”

“Well ... I’m ... stuck. I’m a good investigator but Fornell has been on my case since that debacle with DiNozzo. Not to mention the second one with that girl ... some undercover thing that came back to bite him ... last year? Anyway. I just don’t get it. Facts are facts.”

Remy took pity on him and pointed out, “You get thin’ backward. Oui, facts are facts ... but you try to make facts fit yo’ idea. Not make yo’ idea fit facts. And dat’s a problem. How many people are in prison right now because some hard charger took the facts they liked and made a case? More and more show up all de time. Yo’ doan wan’ be known fo’ bein’ that sort, but you are.”

Sacks swallowed; this pill was not only huge, but extremely bitter. He felt things click in his head for the first time ever. “Well, fuckin’ shit. Damn it.”

“Think with your heart as well as your head. Get all the facts, all of them. Then make your judgement on the facts. If you do it the other way around, you’ll always be wrong.” Remy nodded once then said, “We should a’ drove. We’re gonna have the devil of a time carrying all that shit we need.”

Ron just shrugged, still a bit stunned by his epiphany. “We’ll manage. Besides, that SUV is full of luggage.”

The sailors at the mess had already put together a box of dishes, flatware, and other things; including paper napkins. Remy accepted their salutes with easy confidence then gathered up the box of breakables; he nodded to the other one, “Grab that, will you?”

Sacks picked up the box and waited to find out what was next. That turned out to be one of the sailors offering, “Sir? I’m off duty now, and I’ve got room for you and this stuff. It’s not even out of my way.”

Remy grinned, “Thanks.” They stuffed the boxes into the trunk and got into the car. Remy took shotgun and Ron took backseat. It only took them five minutes to get back to the hut and a few seconds to unload. They sent the driver on his way with thanks and carried the boxes into the hut.

Gibbs nodded to Remy. “You two set the table, food’s about ready.”

Fornell glowered at Sacks who ducked his head and scurried to start setting the picnic table out back. Tony just left the pasta in the cook pot ―and why the hut had three big pots, no small ones and no dinnerware was a good question― and brought that to the table. There was also a huge salad, also in a pot. Dean brought out several odd-shaped foil packages, which he opened to reveal garlic bread. 

Tony settled at the head of the table while Gibbs took the foot. That left one side to Tim, Cosmo, and Dean and the other to Fornell, Sacks, and Remy.

Gibbs took some pasta then passed the spoon to Fornell, he didn’t even think about passing the pot. A pot big enough to hold enough food to feed this group was way too heavy to pass. He used tongs to add a helping of salad then grabbed a heel of garlic bread. He loved the heels and Bogarted them when they were home, unless Ducky was there, then he left them for him.

Tony, seeing this, said, “There’s got to be a way to get more heels out of a loaf of bread. You leave the heels for Ducky.”

Sacks poked his pasta for a second then said, “Buy shorter loaves. There’s a really nice short loaf at DiCarlo’s Bakery. Just buy more loaves.” He looked up to see everyone staring at him. “What?”

Dean swatted Cosmo, exclaiming, “And why didn’t you think of that?”

Cosmo yelped in mock pain and returned, “Why didn’t you?”

Remy eyed them for a moment then ordered, “Settle. You knock the table over and Gibbs will have you on the mats. Jerks.”

Sacks eyed the two men while they argued over not much of anything. He’d seen teams with the FBI act in much the same way, very like siblings, arguing heatedly one minute, a closed unit the next. And God forbid that anyone get in between them.

Gibbs nodded once, “I will. And any of you other squids that decides to act up at table.”

Sacks also noticed the indulgent expression on DiNozzo’s face. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or smack someone.

Fornell couldn’t believe the change in his friend. Gibbs had always been shut off, stone-faced; now he was openly laughing at something Tim had said. He was glad his friend had finally opened up. He grabbed for the salad and got his hand slapped. “Hey!”

Gibbs pushed the pot his way. “Ask; don’t reach. Bread?”

Tobias took the offered bread and said, “If Emily had done that, I’d have swatted her one. Sorry.”

Gibbs just grunted around a mouth full of pasta and returned to listening to Tim.

Fornell nodded, poked Sacks, and snarled, “You got your shit straight?”

Ron couldn’t help but sigh before he replied, “I do. There’s things that I thought were ... well, Head up ass, over-heated brain that doesn’t work so well. I’m over it.” He poked the pasta for a moment then announced, “DiNozzo. Pasta is really good. Thanks for cooking for us.”

Tony eyed him for a moment then said, “Welcome.”

Remy beamed at Sacks and nodded to him.

It wasn’t long before Dean was threatening to lick the pot and Cosmo was mopping up the last of his sauce with a scrap of bread. Gibbs pointed to Dean and Sacks. “KP. Tim ... check those financial searches. Remy ... see what you can do to connect our victims. Tony ... connect all three of them to the missing guy if you can. Let’s go, people, daylight’s burnin’.”

They all got up and headed back inside to deal with their assignments. Fornell and Gibbs started working on getting the various jurisdictions to cooperate with NCIS or the FBI. It was a bit of slow going, as someone had already alienated them all by hard-charging their departments. Gibbs snarled, “And this is why I leave all this shit to AJ; he’s a people-person and can get the most ornery sheriff or chief to cooperate. Now what?”

Fornell agreed then nearly whined, “And whoever has pissed off RenCo, and they won’t even tell us what is missing, only that it’s highly classified and ‘need to know’, which we don’t. The only thing they are saying is that it’s on a stick thing and missing.”

Tony flipped through his notes then grumbled, “We seem to be getting cock-blocked by a guy named LaRoquet, Giles. He just doesn’t seem to care what’s going on. He keeps telling everyone ‘need to know’ or ‘not my pay grade’. I think we ought to drag him in and sweat him. Something about him smells, and it’s not his aftershave.”

They all realized that they needed to get back to DC, where all the murders, missing persons, and data were. This was not going to be fun. At least Tobias Fornell was sure it wasn’t going to be much fun; he hated military transport with a passion. As far as he was concerned, he’d rather travel by cattle truck.

Tony made a call, while Gibbs made another. 

Everyone checked to make sure that they would have time to pack up whatever needed packing. Tim grumbled, “Go to Great Lakes, go back to DC. Hurry up and wait.”

Remy cheerfully replied, “Military fact of life. Check for earplugs, and we’ll just sleep.”

Dean grabbed his ruck, pulled out a box and waved it at Remy. “Right here. Got enough for everyone.”

Fornell mumbled, “Didn’t even have a chance to shower and change.”

Gibbs jerked a thumb in the direction of his bathroom. “Got at least an hour; go.”

Fornell snatched his dopp kit and a change of clothing out of his bag and hurried off. “Anyone else?” 

Tim shrugged, “We had a spit bath, it’ll do. We can all clean up when we get home.” Dean and Cosmo refrained from comment, used to the military habit of shuffling people hither and yon without explanation only to send them in the opposite direction ten minutes later.

While Tobias was showering and changing, Tony and Remy went to their assigned quarters to clean and pack; the rest of the group cleaned up the Quonset. Gibbs easily packed his ruck and put it by the door on top of his gun case.

His phone rang just as Tony and Remy returned. “Gibbs.” He listened to the officer on the other end then said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He closed his phone turned around and barked, “We got wings. We need to be at the field in thirty, so move it.” He grabbed his stuff and hurried out.

Everyone scrambled to get to the SUV. Fornell announced, “There’s not enough room. What are we going to do?”

Tony scoffed, then pointed. “We’ll all fit. Come on.”

They put Tim behind the wheel; Tony took shotgun with Dean on his lap. Remy, Gibbs and Cosmo took the next seat and, since the third seat was down to hold all the luggage, Fornell and Sacks wound up in their laps. 

They arrived at the airstrip, parked the SUV and hurried to board. The load officer didn’t look pleased but saluted them as a group, pointed and said, “I’ve set aside the forward seats for you as a group. If you’d like, you can put all your luggage in ...” He eyed Gibbs’ long gun case. “Or not.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of a cargo net hung from one wall and ambled off to cuss out a group of fresh fish who seemed to think they ruled the world. He disabused them of that idea loudly, with several profanities and appropriate gestures.

They put all the rucks and Fornell’s suitcase in the net, then put Gibbs’ rifle and Fornell’s briefcase under the seats.

As they settled in, Fornell grumbled, “They don’t even have proper seats.” He struggled to get comfortable in the lawn-chair-strap seat; it really didn’t work for him. 

Tony took pity on him and handed him a blanket, showing him how to stuff it behind his back to reshape the seat. “You better put in earplugs.” Tony handed him a pack of disposable earplugs.

“Thanks, man. I ... um...” 

Sacks tried to figure out how to say what he wanted to but Tony cut him off. “Forget it. We’re good.” Sacks shook his head; DiNozzo’s infinite ability to shake things off amazed him. He was seriously rethinking his attitude toward the man. He settled back in his seat, poked the blanket behind him into better position, stuffed the earplugs into his ears and went to sleep.

Tobias Fornell put in his earplugs as takeoff began. He knew he was not going to be comfortable, warm, or anything until they reached DC. He wondered how long the flight was going to take.

The loading officer finished the last of his paperwork and walked around a bit to check on his passengers. There weren’t that many in the hold, as it was so full of ‘real’ cargo, but the small passenger area was full of men. He glanced over them, checking to see that they were all properly seated. He could tell that four of them were some sort of SpecOps group, as they were all huddled together; you couldn’t touch one without alerting them all. Another group was comprised of an older, grey-headed man and a younger taffy-haired one; both looked lean and mean, possibly a HOG and his PIGlet. The last two men were a bit odd; the younger man was military, the older should have had civilian written on his face but they were slumped together, or the younger man was leaning on the older, who was tolerating it with a combination of irritation and amusement. LO Smith offered, “I could move him for you.”

Fornell shook his head, “No, he’s one of mine, it’s fine.”

“Okay. You need anything I can provide, just let me know.”

“I just want to get back to DC. How long, do you think?”

The loading officer eyed his tablet, a constantly updated flight record. “Um ... unless we get diverted, three hours. We should be in DC at about 0200, plus or minus. Don’t quote me on that, though.”

Fornell just said, “Thank you.” He poked Sacks into a more comfortable, for him, position and grumbled, “Damn it. Fly to Great Lakes, fly back to DC, wonder where we’ll go next. And not until I’ve had at least eight hours in a real bed, a hot shower, clean clothing, and a decent meal. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

Someone offered from the dim back of the compartment, “We’re all too old for this shit, but we keep on doin’ it. All of us are crazy.”

Another voice offered, “Prime test for insanity ... keep doin’ the same stupid thing and expect different results.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Gibbs and Tony barked, “Shut up, idjits.” at the same time then said, “Bread an’ butter.” 

Fornell just groaned and leaned back to try to sleep.

.

Now, most military will tell you that there are gods, and there are Gods; it seemed that the Gods of Luck were smiling on the whole Pod as the plane wasn’t diverted. This meant that they arrived in DC at 0220, deplaned with speed, and were standing in front of the terminal by 0300. Gibbs whistled shrilly and gestured, resulting in a short bus pulling up to pick them up.

They piled in, luggage in hand. Gibbs left his duffel to someone else and took care of his rifle case. Tony was happy to deal for him. They got seated, gave the driver the address to Mallard Manor, and endured the drive. Fornell was a bit surprised to realize that he was staying there.

Emily was with her grandparents, so there was actually no reason for him to go to an empty house to shower, shave, and sleep. He realized that he was grateful.

Gibbs poked Sacks. “You’re stayin’ with me. Couch makes up into a bed.”

Ron started to say that he could just go home, then realized that he didn’t want to. “Thanks.”

This caused Dean to remark. “Jet, you know, you really need to finish that table.”

Gibbs grimaced. “I know. But it’s a bad luck piece. First I had to order the board feet and wait forever. Then, one of the boards had a piece of metal in it and ruined my plane blade, so I took it all back to be x-rayed. Turns out there was a bit of something in another board. I took the whole shipment back and had them reorder from someone else. I’m still waiting.”

Dean shook his head. “If they said it was x-rayed, why wasn’t it?”

“Lumber yard tried to save money on the boards to make a bigger profit. Didn’t work. I’m going to a different yard.” 

The chatter died off then; everyone was tired and knew they had to get up early or they’d hear it from Vance, the SecNav, and who knew who else. 

When they arrived at Mallard Manor, that group scrambled to sort out their luggage and get to the door. The driver waited patiently, politely making sure that his headlights were pointed at the door.

This turned out not to be necessary as Ducky came to the door as they approached it, Jimmy hovering behind his shoulder. A flick of a switch turned on the porch lights.

Tobias nodded to Ducky. “Doctor. Hope you don’t mind that Tony said I could crash here.”

Ducky stepped back, “I don’t mind at all, dear boy. Come in. Come in. Wipe your feet.” He eyed the sorry-looking group as he led the way. “Anything to eat?”

Tony took a quick visual vote, then spoke for all of them. “No thanks, Ducky. It’s too late at night. We’ll have something good tomorrow morning.”

They clattered up the stairs and went to their rooms. Ducky pointed, “Tobias, you’ll be there. There’s the loo. I’m there, and AJ is there.” He pointed to the various doors, then said, “Good night. Sleep well,” and went back to his bed, well aware that he had to be up at 0700, as did everyone else.

.

Gibbs gave his address to the driver, reassuring him, “I’ll pay the whole tab and collect from everyone else later.”

“Yes, sir. We’re about ...”

Gibbs interrupted the driver with a chuckle, “I’m well aware of how long it will take. Let’s put some wheels under this thing.”

The driver got behind the wheel and took off. It took them less than thirty minutes to get to GHQ; there was nearly no traffic to speak of. 

When the driver pulled up in front of Gibbs’ place, he set the brakes and announced, “We’re here.”

Gibbs settled the bill with a yawn, giving the driver a good tip on top of the bill. “Take it easy going home. Good night.” He watched for a moment as Remy handed out luggage then held out his arms to accept his rifle case and duffel. “Let’s get inside, I’m beat.”

Remy also yawned, “Me too. I’m for jus’ dumpin’ all this in the livin’ room and sortin’ later.”

Gibbs, who hated things just dumped, was torn but finally agreed, “Okay. Just this once.” He pointed to the new, pull-out couch, “All the stuff is in it. Night.”

Ron pulled the couch into a bed, made it up, and tumbled in.

It only took a few minutes for everyone else to hit the rack; sleep soon followed.

.

It was a very grumpy group that woke to the ringing of the house phone. Gibbs dragged himself out of bed with the hand set pressed to his ear. “What!” he listened for a few moments then snarled, “We’ll all be in in an hour.” He got out of bed and hammered on doors, yelling, “Up! Up!”

Remy rolled out of bed, landing on his knees, groping for a weapon that wasn’t there. He woke completely and yelled, “Okay! Okay! What’s the panic?”

Gibbs was banging on Dean and Cosmo’s door, but he heard and replied, “We got the go from SecNav and FBI. I want us all at Mallard Manor in an hour. UP!”

Dean yelled, “We’re fuckin’ up, damn it. Stop tryin’ ta break the damn door down.”

Cosmo just grumbled incoherently from his position behind the bed. He was rummaging under it for his boots. “Damn jarhead. Noisy asshole.”

Meanwhile, at Mallard Manor, Ducky was doing much the same thing in his own rather British way. He just turned the sound system in the front lounge up as loud as it would go and played Reveille. The swearing was epic.

“Yes. Exactly so. Now, shower and get downstairs as quickly as you can. I have a feeling that we’ll be invaded soon and I want a proper brekkie started. Hurry along now.” Ducky didn’t bother to tell anyone that he was already up, dressed, and getting ready to make tea.

As he puttered in the kitchen, Ducky kept an ear out for the GHQ mob, as he called them. When he heard a knock on the door, he called, “Come on in, it’s open.”

Gibbs ambled in, followed by Dean, Remy, Cosmo, and Sacks. Tony trotted in a few seconds later followed by Jimmy and Tim. Fornell, it seemed, was still shaving.

Gibbs started to tell Tony something, but Ducky firmly interrupted him. “You’ll not start an all-day think tank on an empty stomach. Come cook, AJ.”

Tony grinned, “Full English?”

Ducky smiled benignly and said, “If you don’t mind, dear boy. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Fornell?”

“Coffee, then I’m your man.” 

Gibbs just headed for the coffee pot. “Duck. Need hot water?”

“No, I’ve already started the pot. It should be ready in a mo’.” Ducky had relaxed around the group enough that he indulged in some of the slang he’d grown up with. He could have them all in stitches with his use of Perlie slang or Cockney rhyming.

Ron looked up, “Tea? What kind?”

“For morning, Fortum and Mason Scottish Blend. Would you care for a cup?” His hopeful look made Ron smile and nod.

He accepted the cup Ducky offered him with a soft, “Thanks, Dr. Mallard.”

Ducky patted his shoulder and said, “Just call me Ducky. Everyone does so.” 

Fornell took one look at the organized chaos that Ducky’s kitchen had turned into and decided to take the coward’s way out. “There coffee yet? I’m dyin’ here.”

Gibbs, realizing exactly what his long-time friend was up to, just handed him a mug and pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit by Ducky and keep out of the way.” He eyed Sacks for a second, “You too.” He then went back to supervising.

Fornell suddenly said, “Well, shit!”

Gibbs didn’t even look over at him; he just smirked and said, “Finally remembered your car.”

“I did, you asshole; why didn’t you remind me?” He began dialing his phone.

“Last time I reminded you of anything, you bit my head off.”

“Jerk, that was because you were reminding me that you told me not to marry Dianne.” He put the phone to his ear, then juggled back and forth as he worked his way through a phone tree to actually take care of the car. He finally hung up after one last press one for this, two for that, three for something else. “Damn it. Just once, I’d like to talk to a real, live, human person.”

Tim absently replied, “Well, just press zero and hold it. That usually works. If it doesn’t, press random numbers then wait. Someone’ll usually come online to tell you you’re doing it wrong and ask how to direct your call.”

Tobias snarled, “And you couldn’t tell me this sooner?”

Tim looked up from potato patrol and smirked slightly. “I could, but where would be the fun in that?”

Tony, meanwhile was orchestrating getting tomatoes grilled, real English-style bacon fried, eggs fried and poached, mushrooms fried, and beans heated. He stopped a minute and called, “Ducky. Where’s the pudding?”

Ducky laughed and told him where it was. Sacks poked Fornell and hissed, “Pudding? For breakfast?”

Ducky answered, “Not sweet pudding, Black Pudding and Suet Pudding. I like it.” He patted Sacks on the hand. “You don’t have to eat it.”

Sacks frowned then told him, “I’d give it a try. Never had it.”

Tobias shook his head. “I know your tastes, and you won’t like it.” He gave Ron a run-down of the ingredients which caused him to make a face. “Told you.”

“I’m sure it’s an acquired taste.”

Ducky agreed. “I’ve eaten it since I can remember. Love the stuff. How Tony manages to get it, I’ll never know; but it’s some of the best I’ve had in a long time.”

Gibbs replied to that comment with the surprising information that Tony made it himself.

Ducky frowned, “Now, how in the world does he manage to do that in secret?”

Tony overheard that and told him, “I don’t try to keep it a secret. It’s just that it stinks so much I try to do it early in the morning or late at night so the smell is gone by the time someone wants to eat.”

“Well, I do thank you very much, dear boy. I’m very grateful.” Ducky smiled benignly at all his ‘boys’. 

It wasn’t long before Tim was finished with the potatoes and had them diced for cottage fries. He got a skillet and added butter; when the butter was melted, he added the potatoes and some chopped onion; salt and pepper followed that. He kept an eye on that, stirring it occasionally to keep it from burning. 

Gibbs eyed the pan then asked Tony, “Who’s making toast?”

Tony pointed to Dean who was hovering over a four-slot toaster. “Dean. Tim, help Dean, will you? And don’t let those ‘taters burn.”

Tim poked Tony, saying, “One time. I swear.”

Tony snorted then went to check the tomatoes. Grilled tomatoes had to be watched like a hawk or they’d burn; tomatoes have a surprising amount of sugar in them.

Remy was stirring the beans to keep them from scorching; he gave them one last poke and said, “Beans are hot. Bowl?”

Tony checked the mushrooms, which were done. “Yeah, and the mushrooms. Take them on into the dining room. Okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“McGee?”

“Five minutes on the spuds. Toast?”

Dean answered, “Done. I’m takin’ it in.”

Tony deftly plated the tomatoes while asking, “Cos? Bacon?”

“Done and plated.”

“Eggs?”

Gibbs answered that. “Done and ...” he put the last of the poached eggs in little bowls. “Done.”

A quick check by both men led the last of the food to the table and everyone taking a seat.

Ducky nodded. “Looks excellent. Jet, if you would?”

Gibbs picked up the first platter, took a serving of bacon and passed it on. He quickly worked his way through the platters while Ron noted that the small bowls of poached eggs had made their way in front of Ducky, Jimmy, Tim, and Tony; he wondered why they called him AJ, so he asked.

Tony told his tale, ending, “So Jet was kind enough to let me change Dominic to Jethro. Pissed the old man off to no end.” He grinned. 

Sacks nodded. “I see. Names are important in more ways than most people think. Pass the bacon please.”

They passed this and that, and Sacks learned that manners were expected when he reached across the table for the toast. 

Remy smacked his hand, saying, “Please and thank you, and no boarding house reach. What do you want?”

Sacks grumbled, “Toast.” Only to have Ducky announce, “If you can’t mind your manners, we’ll ask you to leave the table. Would you like to try that again?”

Realizing that he was expected to use the manners his grandmother had taught him, he cleared his throat and said, “Would someone pass me the toast, please?” He got toast passed, as well as an offer of more coffee. “No, thank you. I’m coffeed out.”

They finished eating and settled in for one last cup of coffee, in Ducky and Jimmy’s cases tea, and a quick exchange of information.

Ducky started it out with his autopsy findings, with Jimmy adding something every now and then. Ducky was convinced that the men had no relationship to each other, but was concerned about some odd calluses on their hands. He passed the baton to Jimmy on that.

Jimmy agreed that there were no obvious connections but admitted that he and Ducky were only ME’s and had probably missed something.

Tim frowned, “What sort of calluses are we talking about? Might be more to that than we think.”

Ducky nodded to Jimmy, who got up to retrieve some pictures. Gibbs glanced at Dean and Cosmo, then asked, “You guys mind clearing away?”

Remy just shrugged. “Support personnel, us. Got it.” He got up, motioning to Dean and Cosmo to come help. They were already moving, so it didn’t take them long to clear away the dirty dishes, platters, and whatnot. They left coffee cups; it was more than their life was worth to mess with the coffee.

Jimmy returned with the pictures of each victim, found the pictures of the calluses, and put them on the table. “Here, they all have the same calluses. I’ve seen this somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.” 

The pictures were passed from hand to hand until they came to Tim. He blinked at them, glanced at his hand then looked back at the pictures. He finally offered his hands to Ducky. “What do you see?”

Ducky examined Tim’s hands for a moment then exclaimed, “Oh, my. Those calluses are almost identical. What is going on?”

Tim showed his hands to Tony then Gibbs. “I bet anything that Dean, Cos, and AJ all have similar calluses, as well as trigger calluses and a few odd different ones. They’re gamers’ calluses.”

Gibbs frowned, then asked, “Okay ... so, they all have these calluses. What does that tell us?”

Sacks answered, “That gives us a possible connection. What if they were in the same game on the same guild? How would we find out about that?”

Tim snarled wordlessly. He fiddled with his tablet for a moment then said, “I have to get their computers out of evidence and see. I’m gone.” And with that he got up.

Sacks got up too. “I’m not that bad with a computer; need some help?”

Tim glanced at Fornell who said, “Go,” so they headed out to return to the Yard to see what they could figure out.

While they were gone, the rest of the group worked on other lines of investigation, only to be thwarted time and time again by the lack of cooperation from RenCo, especially their Public Relations Expert Giles LaRoquet. He was objecting to everything they did and interfering in their investigation every way he could. No one could figure out why. Gibbs offered, “Wonder what his financials look like?”

This was a constant irritant to Tim. He could run financials until he was blue in the face but, since there were so many banks, each with its own system, it took forever, and he usually had to run them more than once. If they were in the military, it was a bit easier to track what went in and out, if they had a service account. Some did, some didn’t. If they relied entirely on civilian banks, tracking their financial activities could be problematical. If it was a mix of civilian and service, it was a crap shoot. 

.

 

Chapter 6

 

Ron Sacks sat in the passenger seat, silently watching as Tim McGee drove through the morning traffic. He didn’t drive aggressively, but he seemed to be able to find the holes in the streams of cars and utilize them without interrupting the flow of traffic. He decided to mend fences a bit. “I like the way you drive. Fornell drives like an LA taxi driver.”

“Thanks.” Tim didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied, “You should see AJ drive. He’s like a fish in water.”

“Really? I’d figure him more like Gibbs.” Sacks appreciated the fact that Tim didn’t throw him around the car.

“No. Gibbs drives like a Turkish cab driver.” Tim grinned. “He’s not as bad as Ziva was.”

“David? Little thing like her?” Sacks frowned, trying to remember more about the Mossad liaison; he’d only met her two or three times.

“You think Gibbs is bad; she drives like a Turkish cab driver on crack. Made me puke at least twice.” Tim chuckled. “Heard from her awhile ago. She’s doing better.”

“I heard she lost it. Too bad. I was actually sorry to hear you lost her.” 

Tim sighed, “She was good. But she got ... problematical, at the last. She decided, and the shrinks agreed, that she had a combination of PTSD and burnout. She’s running the family orchards now. Olives and lemons, if you can believe it.”

“Yeah, I can. So ... what are we looking for ... exactly?” Sacks decided to turn the conversation to a safer channel.

“I want to check each laptop for an MMORPG game. If they were all playing the same one, they might have met on line but never actually met in real life. It’s a connection that I would make but not many other investigators would. If someone at RenCo made a connection ... they might have thought that our victims had more of a connection than they did. We’ll know more when I finish my checks.”

They were then at the gate and Sacks got a real earful as Tim exchanged rude jokes with the two men who checked them through. All three of them seemed to agree that Tim’s borrowed SUV was somehow not up to snuff with Tony’s Hummer. 

Sacks relaxed as soon as he realized that the men were good acquaintances at least. He waited until they pulled away from the guard house to ask, “I thought you drove some sort of expensive Italian something.”

“I do. I bought a Boxter with the proceeds from one of my books. But I don’t drive it to the Yard; it’s too tempting to a certain type. They tend to do bad things to it. So I usually come in with either Ducky and Jimmy, or AJ. I drive the Boxter for relaxation.” He deftly parked. “Well, let’s get started.”

They made their way to the squad room and Gibbs’ bull pen. Tim pointed to the desk beside his. “You can use that desk. I wouldn’t try AJ’s, if I were you; he tends to booby trap it. We had an intern who was a snack snitch. Really pissed him off so ... booby traps. The exploding spring snakes were fun, but the paint bomb was a bit of a mess. So ... use the guest desk. Okay?”

Sacks eyed Tony’s desk for a moment then moved on. “Okay. So, what are we doing first?”

“I’m going to physically locate the laptops in evidence. Then I’ll send down an order to release them to you. While you’re getting them, I’ll be writing a program to search their hard drives for the data we need. By the time it’ll take you to check them out and get them here, I’ll be ready to run the search. Abby’s gonna be pissed, but we don’t have time to cater to her. Love her to death but she can be a bit of a prima dona.”

“I’ve heard that the two of you together cracked some ... extremely sensitive systems.” Sacks looked at Tim with a slight smile.

“We did. And that’s the other reason I’m reluctant to include her in this. It’ll draw the kind of attention we don’t need. If I really have to hack something, she’s my go-to. But this isn’t that sort of have-to-have-it-now-or-else sort of thing. No matter what Jet says. So. You and I can handle it. I know you’re fairly good.” Tim was slightly distracted, so Sacks forgave him his slightly condescending comments. “Okay, got the locations and item numbers. Grab that page out of the printer and head down to evidence. Okay?”

Sacks took the sheet of paper out of the printer. “Got it. You sure this is going to be okay? I know how Gibbs is about turning loose of a case.”

Tim snorted. “Jet hates having someone come in and run rough shod over a case, never mind who it is. In this case, we have to cooperate because it crosses jurisdictions. Jet just hates all the politicking, says it’s a waste of time. Which it is. So, please get those machines up here and then you can help me set them up. Scram.”

Sacks scrammed, going down the stairs to Evidence, to have the computers pulled from the stacks for him. He refused to try to find them himself, saying, “There’s no reason for me to do that. You know exactly where things are. I’ll wander around forever.” He flirted with the older lady a bit which made her giggle and go to find what he wanted. He thanked her, signed where she pointed, and took the elevator back up.

Tim looked up, smiled, and observed, “Those guys are almost as geeky as I am. What do we have?” He checked carefully, then said, “Ron, if you’d set the tower up on that desk, I’ll start hooking things up.”

It didn’t take Tim long to get everything hooked into an isolated sub-hard drive of the powerful NCIS MainFrame. “Okay, now I’ll virus, trojan, click logger, click jacker and ...” He chuckled. “You’re not interested. Just makin’ sure we don’t give NCIS a cold. So ...” he checked his connections, clicked the mouse a few times then sat back. “Okay, now ... we wait.” He settled back to work on another project while he waited for results. Sacks just eased into the chair at his assigned desk, careful not to pull a plug or jiggle anything. 

A ding made Tim switch his attention from his project to the isolation program. “Okay! We’re good. Now to the good stuff. I’ll just download everything off their disks and see what’s what.” He answered Ron’s unasked question, “We didn’t do it before, because RenCo assured our IT Department that these were private computers and wouldn’t have any work-related data. We, and by that I mean Vance, decided not to mess with their private computers, but ... I’m pretty sure that what we want to know is there.” Another ding and Tim was clicking through windows of information, quickly seeing exactly what he’d assumed he’d see. “Yeah. They were on the same team.” He read a few bits here and there. “They met through a guild and started a quest together. Seems that they had so much fun and got along so well that they formed a permanent team, built their own tavern and ... Not interested, right? So ... we have our connection. I’m going to download all their chat and what-not. I’ll have to hack WOW, but that’s no biggie.” He tapped at his keyboard for several seconds, poked his mouse and waited. His laptop made a “water down the drain” sound for a moment or two, then popped. “Okay. Got it. Now to get back to Mallard Manor and go through the motions.”

Sacks sighed. “I suppose you want me to take all this back to Evidence?”

“I do. But I’ll help you. Just give me a second to seal this and I’ll be right there.” He slipped a plastic strip through the holes in the zippers of his bag, sealed them with a device he took from his pocket, stuffed the device and leftover seals back into his pocket, and said, “Okay. Here we go.”

Sacks eyed the sealed bag. “Paranoid?”

“No, pissed. Every damn time I go into the court house, Hoover Building, Pentagon, or any number of other places, some jackass gets the idea to turn my computer on, then right back off. Do you have any idea what that does to my system? It’s not good and pisses me off. If they really want to examine the contents, I unpack, show, and repack. No one touches anything. And I’m not above simply telling them that I’ll leave and they can explain to whoever I’m meeting that I left.”

Sacks’ skeptical, “And that actually works?” made Tim snort.

“It works. My clearance level is really high. In fact, it’s so high, I can’t tell you what it is. And when I’m wanted, it’s usually something really important and I don’t have time to repair my system because some wand-waving bean counter wants to be seen to be doing something… or wants to impress me with how important they think they are. Let’s get this done.” He put his bag on top of the pile of laptops, all neatly resealed in their evidence bags, and headed for the elevator. “You could get the tower, if you would.” Ron picked up the box and followed.

It didn’t take them long to log the computers back in, give the lady a quick smile, and go back to the car. Tim put his bag behind the seat and drove away. 

Sacks was astonished again as the exit guards just saluted Tim as he drove right by. 

.

The ride back to Mallard Manor didn’t take that long. Tim was now driving against the flow of traffic; since the way was all four-lane, Tim had a little fun. He goosed it and enjoyed the feel of the powerful engine as it tore up the highway. He didn’t even notice that Ron looked very pale.

He parked in the garage and dragged Ron back to the kitchen door. “Okay. I’ll get set up and download my analysis. Be prepared, Jet is gonna blow a fuse.”

Sacks frowned as he thought over the ramifications of their new intel. “Oh, shit! If what I think is going on is ... this is so ... bad. But how does the theft of RenCo’s proprietary data tie in?”

Tim sighed, “I’ll tell everyone at once, once I’m sure of my facts.”

They were greeted with coffee and food ―sandwiches― and the information that their missing guy was the brother of one of the murdered men, not the Marine’s brother. They’d been told so but, as Gibbs often said, “Rule Number Three A: Don’t believe what you’re told. Double check.”

Sacks asked, “And there’s a rule b?”

Remy nodded. “Numbering system is FUBAR. Rule Three B is ‘Never be unreachable.’”

Tim opened his laptop and checked. “Searches are still running, but they’ll be done in about five. Food?” He was given a sandwich and a glass of southern-style sweet tea. Ducky declared such a thing a sacrilege against tea, but they’d all acquired a taste for it at Remy’s family reunion. So he munched on his sandwich and drank his tea while he waited for his program to finish.

A ding let them know that the search had finished. Tim checked his results then announced, “Okay. Here’s what we got. All three of our vics belonged to the same team in WOW, ran quests together on a regular basis, and knew each other fairly well. Only ... it was all on-line. Our first vic worked at RenCo in development. He was working on some really classified stuff, mostly top secret programs for the company ... proprietary stuff. We really don’t need to know what. All we need to know is ... a copy was down-loaded to vic number 1’s desk top, probably for bug checking in an isolated environment. I checked twice ... it’s not on his tower, which means he probably downloaded it to a USB drive, intending to run it from there. The drive disappeared from his desk, which he reported at once. And that’s what I’ve got. Why someone murdered his two best on-line buds is beyond me.” He picked up his tea glass and took a drink.

Gibbs sat with that totally blank look that meant he was thinking hard. 

Fornell was also thinking, “Okay, we’ve got a connection. Question, because I don’t know enough about this WOW thing. Is there any way to send email through their system, something with attachments maybe?”

Tim frowned. “Not really, but you can post things in forums and actually speak to team members over the system. But there are mail boxes in every town, and some inns provide similar boxes for residents. If the owner of the inn allowed for it, attachments are possible. Why?”

“Well, what if ... whoever stole the data sent it to someone else over WOW?”

Tim thought for a moment. “Don’t think you could, the attachment would be way too big. But ... what if whoever didn’t know that?”

Dean nodded. “So ... and this is wild conjecture ... someone knew that the data was missing somehow. But RenCo isn’t the one. They’re panicking all over the place, trying to find that missing USB. Someone else knows it’s gone, knows ... or thinks they know, who has it ... and they want it.”

Cosmo said what they were all thinking. “Industrial espionage ... theft of proprietary software ... someone not RenCo knows that it’s gone walkabout and wants it. And they’re tracking it through the WOW connection without any idea where the damn thing actually is. Or the fact that it can’t be sent through the WOW systems.”

Fornell agreed. “Right. Now ... all we have to do is locate our missing man. Fun.”

Tim was frowning at his computer. “It really can’t be this anti-climactic. Can it? Seriously?”

Tony looked over at him but it was Gibbs who demanded, “What?”

“There’s a message at the Inn of the Half Moon asking that anyone who wants to go Questing for ... well, never mind but it’s obviously a plea for help from ... he’s using a game name that’s a bastardization of Old Norse ... means Son of Woe. Who the hell would name their character Son Of Woe? Unless they needed real-life help.”

Gibbs eyed the computer screen as if it might explode or something. “Okay. What now?”

Fornell, a bit more up-to-date on this sort of thing due to Emily, said, “Offer to join his team.”

“Okay. I’ll just use my own character, it’s already established; I just have to move from another realm to this one.” Tim typed and clicked for a moment. “Okay, now I’ll offer a quest to him.” More clicking and typing. “Now ... we wait. I’ll nurse this so I don’t miss contact.”

It wasn’t long before he got a PM asking if they could meet in person. He agreed to the meet and got a string of numbers. He also got an odd code in another PM. He looked the code over and realized that it was the actual coding name of Futhark. He ran the string of numbers against the Futhark alphabet and got a different string of numbers. He ran that through Western ISO Latin 1 as a filter. He got a real address this time. 

“Okay. We got a meet. It’s at a coffee house on the Georgetown University campus. And it’s in one hour. We need to suit up and move out ... now.”

They scrambled to gather equipment, vests and whatnot. Tim dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a t-shirt. He covered his vest with a zipped hoodie, which also hid his shoulder holster and side arm. Fornell started to send Sacks out to get their gear when he realized that they didn’t have any. They’d have to go home, get their safety gear, and get to Georgetown; and that wasn’t happening as it would take more than the allotted hour.

Gibbs settled the problem by saying, “Stay to the back. We’ve got enough men to deal.”

Sacks eyed him like he’d lost his mind. “We got me, Fornell, DiNozzo, McGee, and you. That’s five.”

Tony pointed. “They’re all more than capable. Seal Team Six. Even Jimmy is vetted now. That makes seven. Stay to the back of the group. If you get your stupid selves shot, I’ll be mightily pissed.”

Ducky, who’d stayed mostly out of the way, simply supplying food and coffee as needed, agreed, “I will be also. Now, you’d better get moving or you’ll be late.”

They finished gearing up, checked each other over for tells and wiring up their coms. They left in Tony’s huge Hummer and Remy’s SUV; even the Hummer couldn’t handle all of them.

The drive took just under forty minutes. Gibbs and Tony drove with Fornell on the phone to Dean to keep them together. They stopped down the block from the coffee shop and put in earbuds and made sure their mics were hot. 

Gibbs, Tony, and Fornell put their heads together and came up with a quick, down and dirty rescue. Tim would go into the coffee shop, find their tango and retrieve him. Tony, Remy, Dean, and Cosmo would cover the front while Fornell, Sacks, and Gibbs took the back. Jimmy would stay with the vehicles as eyes behind. The only reason Jimmy was even with them was in case they needed a medic. 

The extraction did not go without a hitch. 

The first problem was, John Bean was terrified and insisted on all sorts of reassurances and identifications. This led to everyone in the coffee house staring at them… and taking pictures and videos which showed up all over the web in seconds; Twitter and Instagram lit up like Christmas trees. Tim finally snarled, “Come with me right now or I’m leavin’ your fuckin’ stupid ass in the wind. You want to avoid whoever is after you? This is not the way. We’re all over the net as we speak. Idiot.”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to know ... and ...” he sighed under Tim’s steely gaze and nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

Tim covered John as they headed for the door, but it seemed that the explosion of pictures on the net had led their pursuers right to them. Tim knew that they had to have been close, but now they were right in their laps. 

Half a dozen men scrambled out of a panel van half a block away. They headed directly for the shop with guns in their hands. They were dressed in all black with balaclavas covering their faces. Jimmy barked into his com, “Incoming.” Tim pushed John in the direction of the Hummer, while John did his best to get them both killed.

“What? Stop pushing me. Where are we going? Who’s that? What’s going on?” John pulled away from Tim for the third time. 

Tim smacked him and snarled, “Be still. I’m doing my best to keep you from getting your damn ass shot the fuck off.” He dragged John toward the Hummer by one arm, keeping his right hand free and filled with his Sig.

Jimmy watched as Fornell, Gibbs, and Sacks came charging through the back door of the coffee shop, guns drawn. The customers scattered, screaming; some dove under tables, others jammed the fire door, back door, and side entrance. They avoided the front door as that was the direction the three men were running, except for one man who seemed to think that that was the best way to go. He managed to block the door just long enough to get in Gibbs’ way. He grabbed the man, shoved him back and snarled, “That’s right, jackass, run into the line of fire. Fuckin’ dim-wit.” 

There was a bit more scrambling around as the team arranged themselves to protect their pickup and the unarmored FBI agents. Tim pushed John into Sacks’ grip, saying, “Keep him with you. Dumb fuck-wad is liable to rabbit on us and get his stupid self killed.” Sacks just grabbed him and shoved him in the general direction of the Hummer.

While the Pod was getting Bean into a vehicle, the group of mercenaries was making a determined effort to get to him without shooting someone. This led to an out-and-out brawl in the middle of the street.

Everyone had 9mm’s of some breed, but no one wanted to draw. Tony, Dean, Gibbs, and Remy produced Stingers, while Cosmo just doubled up his fists. Fornell called in, asking for backup, and Sacks kept Bean from bolting. Jimmy helped Sacks keep a hand on him. Tim scrambled into the Hummer and got on the com to relay any communications from the police, NCIS, or the FBI. 

Tony and Remy double-teamed the largest man, Remy punching him in the gut with the butt of his Stinger while Tony hammer-fisted him across the back when he bent over. A quick kick to the head, and he was out for the count.

Dean and Cosmo backed each other and waited for a couple of men to try them. It all went to hell for the attackers when Gibbs kidney-punched one, which put him down and out. That let Dean kick the other man in the knee; the loud crack told a tale of shattered knee caps, and that man was down. 

This left three men and the driver still in the van. The driver got out to go help his buddies instead of making a run for it; not that that would have done him any good, as traffic had him blocked coming and going. This left four men for the Pod to handle. The last of the attackers knew that they were in way over their heads but they weren’t sure what to do next. Their orders were clear: get the USB drive, no matter what they had to do. The only reason they hadn’t started shooting immediately was they didn’t want to attract attention too quickly. They’d failed in that, and now they had to either surrender or shoot their way out. 

The decision was taken out of their hands as the entire Pod, including Jimmy, Fornell, and Sacks, drew down on them. Gibbs shouted, “Give it up. You’re surrounded. We will shoot.”

Tony checked up and down the street, then announced, “We’re clear, Jet. No civilians on the street. Couple of cops coming up on three.”

The two cops added themselves to the group, quickly checking with Fornell, who flashed his badge and ID, then filled them in on what was happening. While this was going on, the rest of the Pod were either watching the men who were still standing, or collecting the injured men and cuffing them. 

Tim was keeping NCIS and the FBI updated second by second. Vance was on the phone to an Assistant Director of the FBI; they each had their own feed, but they needed to consult with each other to keep things from falling apart.

Vance ordered, “Take prisoners. I do not want to listen to the city bitching.”

Tim replied, “Understood.” He switched frequencies and relayed the order.

It didn’t take long to cuff the remaining men; none of them were dedicated enough to lose their lives over this. The pay wasn’t that good. They all just dropped their weapons and knelt in the street to be cuffed and put in transport vans. By agreement between Assistant Director Skinner and Director Vance, the FBI got half the prisoners and NCIS got the other half. Tony was mean enough to make sure that the FBI got all the injured men. Fornell didn’t notice until it was too late. His indignant squawk made the hovering police officers all snicker.

Sacks sighed and rubbed his face. Now that all the excitement was over, he was tired. He slumped against the Hummer wondering if he could get some coffee now that all the excitement was over.

Fornell snarled at Gibbs, “You sent me all the wounded. Jerk.”

Gibbs just smirked, “Tough. Suck it up.”

It didn’t take long to get the rest of the mess cleared up. Fornell agreed that Abby got the SUV; the FBI labs were overloaded. 

While all this was going on, Tim was literally sitting on John Bean. The man was a total wreck. He’d been shoved into the passenger compartment and then into the back. He was now huddled in the floor boards between the far back seat and the back wall. 

Gibbs eyed him for a moment then announced, “I need coffee. Leave the big girl right there. Sacks, keep an eye on him. What kind of coffee do you drink?”

Sacks grinned at Gibbs. “I like my coffee like I like my women, black, sweet, and strong. Thank you.”

The rest of the group joined Gibbs, filing into the coffee shop to order. They were lucky in that the place was empty, unlucky in that the staff was totally shaken up. Tony stepped behind the counter and started making coffee. Jimmy grinned.

Tony sang as he made coffee. He had a very good voice and indulged from time to time; he also sang in the shower. No one said much, as he never did so when people were trying to sleep. It took him about a minute a drink to get everyone’s coffee made. He remembered what everyone liked, so he didn’t have to ask. The staff crept out of their hiding places to watch. The cashier managed to get himself together enough to actually run the register. Everyone took their coffee and headed out to the street again, Gibbs carrying Sacks’ coffee in one hand and his own in the other.

They rode back to NCIS in silence, each man trying to come down from the recent combat. Except for John; he spent the ride alternately whinging and apologizing. Gibbs finally looked over his shoulder and snarled, “Shut the fuck up, you ... jackwad. When we get to NCIS, you better be ready to explain how the hell you fucked up enough to get three men killed.”

Sacks finally reconciled himself to the realization that he had been wrong about DiNozzo ... no, AJ. He cleared his throat and said, “LtCmdr, I need to apologize to you. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Tony replied, “Yes, you were. Apology accepted.”

Sacks frowned for a moment then asked the whole group. “So what do we do about him?” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Gibbs answered that. “We wait until we’re back at NCIS, then we get the whole story.”

.

They took their prisoners in through the parking garage, where they could park right at the elevator. After the van was moved, the Hummer took its place and the Pod piled out, leaving the Hummer right where it was. If it needed to be moved, one of the garage attendants would come get either Gibbs, Tony, or Remy, the only ones who were competent to move it. All the attendants had refused to try to drive the monster.

It wasn’t long before the men were all in interrogation rooms with attendant agents ready and waiting. Vance was at a full boil and wanted answers right now. John Bean was in the small conference under guard; they were out of interrogation rooms. NCIS wasn’t a busy place in that respect, they only had three MCRT’s. The rest of the teams were concerned with other crimes, like fraud, assault, and theft. 

Gibbs ignored the other prisoners; the interrogation teams would all write a report on their information, and Vance would deal. He’d compile everything into one cohesive document that would be given to Legal. Gibbs knew he would read it, as would the rest of the Pod. 

Gibbs and Tony joined John Bean in the conference room. The first thing he did was whine, “You didn’t need to put a guard on the door. I need the ...”

Tony snarled in his face, “Shut the fuck up. You don’t need anything unless I damn well tell you you do.”

Gibbs added, “I’d listen to him if I were you. He’s not in a good mood.”

John gulped. He was well aware of the concept of good cop, bad cop; but these men seemed more like bad cop, worse cop. “Okay, okay. Just ... I need to pee.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes and barked, “Christ on a damn cracker ... go, already.”

John opened the door only to be blocked by a huge Marine. “I ... he said ... I need to go.”

The Marine eyed him for a moment then said, “Go where?” in a flat tone that said he should just sit back down.

“I need to pee. Please.”

“Sir?”

Tony said, “Take him. Keep an eye on him. No cubicle. If he can’t piss in a urinal, bring him back.”

They were only gone a few minutes during which Tony and Gibbs discussed what they wanted to know. Tony finally said, “Just get him to start talking, and I bet we get all our answers.”

It was only a few minutes before John was back in his seat. He eyed Tony, then Gibbs. He said, “I’m not military. You know?”

Tony settled into a chair and said, “Look. We’re trying to connect the dots, and I’m not fuckin’ with you. Start with how the hell you got your hands on that software, and what you intended to do with it.” He slammed his palms on the table and demanded, “Do not make me ask again.”

“Okay okay. So ...” he sighed and rubbed his face. “I visit ... visited my brother at RenCo a lot. I had a little problem with my internet connection ... I missed a payment and they shut me off. So ... I just wanted to download some porn. You know? Just ... I saw the USB stick in Mark’s computer, so I just sat down and started downloading a bunch of stuff. Mark came back, saw what I was doing and had a fit. How was I supposed to know that all downloads were monitored? Who does that shit? He told me to take my shit and leave ... go home and not come back to RenCo any more. He was scared. Really, really scared. So I went home, then went to his place to play WOW. The next thing I know Mark is home and still pissed as hell. He yelled at me and told me exactly what kind of fuck-up I am. I’m so sorry. He got killed because I wanted to watch Debby Does Dallas. God, I’m such a screw-up.” He started to cry.

Gibbs shook his head. “All this because some snot-nosed come-stain wanted to watch porn? Fuck.”

Tony eyed the sobbing man and said, “Now all we need to figure out is who found out about the missing software and who they told.”

John sniffled himself calmer and said, “That creep LaRoquet was hanging around. He was always sneaking around, trying to get people into trouble. Talk to him.” He grumbled, “Public Relations, my ass. More like suck-up.”

Gibbs went to the door. “Master Sergeant, send someone to pick up Mr. LaRoquet.”

The Master Sergeant just nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” He walked away.

LaRoquet was busted the second he walked in NCIS. Gibbs had arranged for one of the mercs to be walked by as he was led off the elevator. The merc sneered at him, which put LaRoquet into a snit. But the merc had one more arrow to his bow. “See they grabbed your ass too. Sorry about that.” It was obvious he wasn’t. The damage was done, much to the merc’s amusement. LaRoquet went nuts, swearing and yelling. And providing everyone in the squad room with plenty of evidence against him.

He cursed and swore and threatened everyone with lawsuits. No one much paid any attention to him. Except the one agent assigned to write down everything he said. It didn’t take them long to get him into an interrogation room, the one they’d just taken the merc out of, and planted in a chair.

He lawyered up at once, so they left him to stew until someone showed up to represent him. No one was in the least surprised when RenCo sent to say that none of their lawyers were coming. He demanded a phone call to another and was advised that he got one call. Vance himself came down to tell him that it was unfortunate that he’d used his call to appeal to the company that he’d tried to steal from. He also said that they were trying to round up a Public Defender for him. He smirked as he told LaRoquet that JAG had advised them that, since he’d called a lawyer, they were free to question him until the lawyer arrived, reviewed the interview notes, and advised him.

Gibbs sat down opposite LaRoquet and just looked at him. He waited a few minutes until Sacks came in and settled by him. Sacks leaned over and whispered in Gibbs’ ear. “Okay, now what?”

Gibbs leaned his way and whispered back, “We wait. He’ll break.”

Sacks shuffled some papers and handed one to Gibbs, who glanced at it, handed it back, and said, “No.” Sacks tucked the paper back into the folder and settled back. 

It wasn’t long before Tony ambled in, in full SEAL black with a chest full of fruit salad and a nasty look on his face.

He jerked his head at Sacks, who just shrugged, gathered his papers, and left. Tony sat down beside Gibbs and turned his gaze to LaRoquet. They stared at him, a twin laser-like glower that made him squirm. They kept it up until he demanded a lawyer again. Tony nodded, got up and left the room.

Tony joined Vance and Melody Jones, one of their legal team. “We have to get him a lawyer, he’s asked twice.”

Melody nodded. “We do. I’ll do it.” she sighed then said, “There are days when I really hate this job. Man’s an entitled jerk.” She picked up the file and started reading.

While she was reading, the rest of the legal department was having litters of kittens. The law was clear: If a person asked for legal counsel, it had to be provided. There was a bit of leeway as to how quickly, but the ASAP principle was usually applied as one hour, or travel time from location to location. They were skirting the edge of legal action right now.

Five minutes later, Melody announced, “Okay. I’m ready. As his legal counsel I’m going to advise that he take a plea bargain, tell all, and hope for leniency. Man’s an idiot.”

Vance eyed the man through the one-way glass. “You think he’ll go for that?”

“Yes. He’s sweating like a bull, twitchy and slidy-eyed. He can’t look Gibbs or DiNozzo in the eye. He wouldn’t look Sacks in the eye either. He’ll spill his guts the second I offer him any kind of plea deal.”

Vance decided. “Since he’s not implicated in any of the murders, only the industrial espionage, offer him ... guilty plea gets him ten years with parole after three.”

“Okay.” She frowned. “He might not go for it.”

Vance shrugged. “Tell him the alternative for espionage, theft of proprietary software, and international terrorism. I think it’s still life for terrorism, and twenty to life for espionage. Not sure about the theft.”

Melody smirked. “Theft of proprietary software intended for, or which can be used for, military applications, is another count of espionage and terrorism.”

While they were consulting in the observation room, LaRoquet was fidgeting. He knew he was in a lot of trouble, but he wasn’t sure how much. He thought about all the money he’d been offered to help find the software when he’d told someone outside the company that it had been pirated. It hadn’t seemed like that big a deal; the shit didn’t even work yet. And then someone had started killing people.

The door banged open, and Melody walked in. “Very well, gentlemen, I’m here. I’ve reviewed what you have so far and all I can say is ...” she turned to LaRoquet. “You’re in a boatload of trouble and, my professional opinion, you’re only going to get out by a full confession. Name names, places, and dates.” She pushed a paper at him. “Read, sign. I’ll wait.”

LaRoquet signed, then started talking.

The upshot was; he had realized that Bean had software that was in development. He hadn’t realized that it was early stages yet, so he’d called a friend of his from a different company and offered him the information on who had it for 350k. That man, James Banger, had hired a mercenary group to recover the information, only telling them that Mark Bean had it. Only Mark hadn’t had it, hadn’t known anything about it at all. They killed him and investigated his computer on the fly. The only thing they’d understood about WOW was that Mark was talking to Troy and Clark. So they’d gone to both of them to ‘encourage’ them to give it up. Neither of them had known anything about it either. But the murder of Troy Smith, a Marine, had attracted unwanted attention from NCIS and the FBI. 

The FBI came in when RenCo realized that the downloaded program hadn’t downloaded to the computer, as Mark had downloaded it to a USB to isolate it from his hard drive. John had simply put his stuff on the USB and grabbed it. Mark had sent an email to his supervisor, unaware that he was out for the rest of the day. He’d then gone home to confront his brother. It wasn’t until he was dead that it all got sorted out and reported. 

Then someone called John to tell him that his brother was dead and his apartment trashed. He’d run over to check to see what had been stolen, and realized that something bad was going on when the inventory had indicated nothing was gone. He’d had the USB in his pocket, so he’d checked to see what he’d actually down-loaded, as that was the only thing he could think of that might be what the intruders were looking for. At first he’d thought RenCo had sent someone, then realized that they wouldn’t kill Mark. They’d just make his life miserable. 

He’d gone back to his own apartment, checked it out, and realized what he had and he’d panicked. It hadn’t helped that someone shot at him as he scurried down the alleyway behind his apartment, headed for Clark Howard’s place. He’d really panicked when he got a text from another friend that both Clark and Troy had been murdered. He’d hidden out at Georgetown until he could figure out what to do. 

Since the news had been full of the triple murder and the fact that NCIS was involved, he’d decided to call them. 

After everything was sorted, the mercs got charged with murder, espionage, and trafficking in stolen goods. James Banger was charged with the same, as was LaRoquet. John Bean got off as he hadn’t intentionally done anything wrong, nor had he hurt anyone. Gibbs’ opinion was that losing his brother and friends was punishment enough.

Fornell took the whole lot off their hands to be tried in civilian court as none of them were military. LaRoquet’s plea deal didn’t go through, as he’d lied several times about how much information he’d passed on. 

Just before they left, Sacks approached Tony. “Okay, I get it now. You’re so intense that you come off as ... dangerous. I don’t react well to perceived threats, so I looked for something, anything to explain my unease. I jumped to the wrong conclusions and right off a cliff. No apologies, just a promise to get my head out of my ass and do better.”

Tony grinned, all teeth, without a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I am dangerous, just not in the way you thought. Apology accepted.” He glowered, “Do better, Sailor.”

Fornell called Sacks to his side, and they both disappeared into the elevator, but not before Fornell smacked Sacks in the back of the head and winked at Gibbs.

 

.

DH - Department Head.  
TO - Training Officer  
UOD - Uniform Of the Day  
NWU - Navy Working Uniform (also called blues, A-TACs, and BDUs)  
Bug Company - A squad, platoon or Company of men incapable of performing any task correctly, regardless of the rewards or consequences.

I know someone’s gonna ask so: a whistle stop is so named because, in the day of rail transport there were two kinds of train, express and local. The express was exactly that, it went fast and only stopped at hubs such as St. Louis, Chicago, or NYC, to off-load passengers and cargo. The local stopped at every podunk town on the line, blowing its whistle two minutes out to give everyone time to get organized and ready to load. Thus whistle and stop became whistle stop.

Bless their hearts is the Southern way of damning with faint praise. In other words it means they should fuck off and die because they’re too stupid to breathe. 

Toppers has been around for years under one name or another. The general idea is that one person tells a story, then the next person tries to tell a better one, called topping a tale, all without lying. (or getting caught out.)


End file.
